Bloody Red Doll
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: A pampered young nobleman's path to becoming a notorious killer whose ultimate destiny lies forces beyond human understanding: the story of Grell Sutcliff.
1. Part 1

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 1**

The men in my family were blessed with having luscious, beautiful red hair; the color of a warm flame and richly thick. None of them appreciated their gift. They would suffocate it under a powdered wig, choke it with a tight bow, or maim it with scissors until it was only a stub on their heads.

I seemed to be the only one who truly savored this blessing, mother made sure of it.

Her own hair was a brilliant golden. A few subtle streaks of gray had shown up by the time I as old enough to notice anything, blending in perfectly. She wore her hair differently from day to day, her servant Annette was an amazing stylist; nimble little fingers would to intricate twists and curls, braids so perfect, artistic almost. Mother never forgave imperfection; sometimes Annette would make her collar higher to cover the scratches the bristles of a brush left on her face and neck.

Mother wouldn't let any servant lay a finger on me; I was her own little project. She loved to do French braids on me, sometimes I would get a ponytail if we had occasion but she loved to do wide ringlets hanging down my back. Sometimes she would leave it flowing natural, adding a few well-placed curls.

She loved to dress me in these little velvet suits with plenty of lace and ruffles when I was small. Even on more demure occasions of dress, ribbons would be added here and there and she always knew what to do with rings and brooches.

I was like a little doll to her. She would hire tailors from London or even France to make me the prettiest little outfits. Money was never an object and our family had plenty of it. I suspect she would rather I had been a girl. She had a girl for five minutes many years ago, only five minutes before death took her. I suspect she found a nice outfit to bury her in.

The rest of her children were boys, one of whom also met the grave as an infant and four others who rarely recognized her presence by the time I came around.

Their's had been an arranged marriage. She came from a family of wealthy German traders and marrying their 16-year-old daughter to the son of a British baron probably gave them a lot more clout and money.

My father was Thomas Arnold Samuel, 6th Baron Sutcliff. Our fortunes were made through livestock and corn on our manor in Essex though our family had become increasingly known for innovations in agricultural equipment. The barons held patents for a plow that could turn the earth in such a way to dig up more nutrients and a troth that changed the nature of feed for better production. There was also a rack that could put nails through the skulls of five cows in a row, killing them as they fed. There were many other patents of the like; creating fortune from better ways to kill animals. Taking in the daughter of a merchant family was more a business decision; Anneliese Dresdner's name might as well been "pawn."

My parents cared about each other once, or at least that was how the old butler Ross would describe it. I asked him when I was five if there was ever a time mother and father were able to not throw things at each other if they were in the same room or look at each other in a warmer gaze than a deathly glare. He said they would hold hands in their younger days or sit next to each other in the study reading. Stories of an ancient time that were likely fairy tales told by an addled servant. Ross was found hanging from his ceiling six months later; anything he said in life lost a bit of credibility.

My brothers never said anything in general, only because I was to be seen and not heard as I was only a child to them. I was the youngest, my eldest brother Matthew was older than me by two decades, groomed from birth to be the next baron. He and my brother Jacob, older two years younger than Matthew, would turn the side business of patents and equipment into a manufacturing operation, Sutcliff Agriculture, Ltd., that was raking in the pounds…for themselves at least. Father was getting nothing save for the family's usual earnings. Matthew was greasing a nice place for himself when father finally shoved off and the barony fell to him. Jacob managed the London office, but was ever the greedy businessman. Title, station, human life, all those pesky other things meant nothing to him aside from money.

Elijah was 15 when I was born and entered the ministry soon after. He had a wife and two children by the time I was four, I only knew of them through the occasional mention by my mother. Sometimes that mention would be followed by "Being around us threatens his righteousness."

Oskar was 12 and in boarding school at the time of my birth. I remember seeing him a few times before he pursued interests of a young man and remained a ghost to me like the others. Notice Oskar's, or more completely Oskar Friedrich's decidedly German name. My guess is my father wanted nothing to do with this one and let my mother have free reign; not caring about the foreign name for his son as his son likely didn't exist to him.

Such was the same with me in spades. She was entering her later years when I was born, probably the last time she bothered to get in father's bed. My mother told my I was christened Grell Nils after members of her family, though I thought it somewhat delightful the German translation of my forename is "garish" and "dazzling." It was more her favorite word; she loved everything grand, everything bright, everything beautiful; the finest clothes, the most glittering jewelry, the most riotous parties. I was her projection; I was indeed her little doll both for herself and against my father.

By the time I was four, it was only myself, my mother, my father, and our servants in our manor. Matthew and Jacob would periodically drop by, mostly to coax my father into handing over money and signing papers. Father was never sober enough to care; he would sign the papers half asleep.

Drinking gradually became his hobby the older I got, as was carrying out the most outrageous and despicable acts when he was completely drunk. A few stumbles down the hallway would become a few obscenities thrown at my brothers. Mother would always order the new butler David or some other servant to keep him out of sight if we had any respectable guests. "The baron is ill, shall I give him a message?"

I thought he just had off manners for a while though the only time he really spent with me was when I was with my nanny. I forgot most of their names, none of them tended to stay in the house long. Mother would hire a new one and invariably the new governess would meet my father. Sometimes he would ask for a private discussion, I would then follow them to father's office and hear these odd grunts and screaming. They would both walk out soon after with sweaty faces and uncomfortable expressions. Invariably, I would get a new nanny soon after, though mother must have known how this would end up.

Father was to be left alone, that was always what I thought. Then he decided to start paying a little more attention to me when I was around seven, the years of mother's primping and doting made me a clear target for when his manner turned much, much darker.

I remember the night when I was six I wandered into the hallway to get a glass of juice. I mainly just wanted to stretch my legs, I could have easily rang for David but really didn't feel like it. I walked down one corridor with a candle and saw a shadow coming down the hall. It was my father stumbling around, I could not get away from him as I was in clear view. I stood still, he walked closer to me and I saw a small axe in his hand.

He stopped right in front of me and waved it in my face, my heart racing in fear.

"Who's a good boy," he said, waving the axe back and forth. "Are you a good boy? I'd hate to have a naughty child."

He snickered a little, I could smell the Scottish whiskey on his breath. He then dropped the axe on the floor and merely walked away as if nothing happened. I ran back to my room and tried to keep to my room at night from then on.

A while later he made an offhand comment about how I was too soft, I needed to toughen up a bit. The next morning he shook me awake just before dawn and dragged me into the cattle barn. Roddy the stable manager was there in front of the door, poised beside a cow; a knife pressed against the creature's throat. Father grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me forward so I was but a step from the animal.

Roddy pressed the blade. Hot blood sprayed over me, over my face and a little getting in my mouth. My clothing, a nice, blue outfit mother picked out, was soaked in blood. The cows legs gave under it and it flailed, blood spraying more with each struggle for breath that never came until the flow of blood diminished.

I could barely breathe. I stood paralyzed, I wanted to scream but my vocal chords could not move. I watched as the cow stilled, the life draining from it with the slowing flow of its blood.

Father would drag me back into the house and back to my room. He stood outside the door as David changed my clothes. Father had him bring the soiled clothes outside when we were finished and he stood in the hallway with me for a few horrifying seconds.

"You repeat this, you'll get a more direct lesson," he said before walking away.

No word was ever repeated. I had nightmares for weeks, though at some point the thought stopped scaring me. It almost fascinated me how the cow stilled, how its blood flowed slower until it was only a trickle.

Father went back to ignoring me, of which I was eternally grateful. Mother did her best to keep me occupied in other ways.

We would go into London together on occasion. She introduced me to opera, to orchestras, galleries. I was eight-years-old when my mother took me to see a play called "A Midsummer Night's Dream." I believe I truly fell in love; my affections were for the beautiful words and mesmerizing stories of one William Shakespeare.

I told mother I wanted to be an actor. She would laugh and smile, I never knew how seriously she took this but I was deadly serious at the time. I sometimes would sneak into the tool shed out back to rehearse lines, often improvised from my child's imagination. Occasionally I would put on little productions for the housekeepers, and sometimes when I played outside they would invite me into their cottage for biscuits and theater.

It was early evening of one such night I was in the room of Annette and her husband Geoffrey, our footman. I was putting on a little play, they laughed and clapped, told me how magnificent I was. Then someone pounded on the door, I heard my father yelling from outside. Geoffrey and Annette gently pushed me toward the wardrobe and I went in shaking; was he looking for me? I didn't want to think on the horrible consequences of having him angry at me.

I hid among Annette's black dresses, though could see out a small crack of the door. Father burst in, hair falling from his ponytail looking an awful fright. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it had to do something with stealing. Father screamed at both of them for stealing something, I blocked out the details. I do remember that axe in his hand.

It was as if the sound turned off in my mind, though I vaguely remember Annette screaming, the crunch and splat of a sharp blade digging into someone's skull, the river of crimson flowing down Geoffrey's face and how is soaked in his beard, the way his eyes widened as if they would pop out of his head. I do remember father's boot digging into Geoffrey's chest as he pulled the axe out, a spray of blood following behind.

I just remember how red it all was. How Geoffrey's white shirt turned brilliant, glistening red. How Annette's white collar was dyed crimson as her head fell backward on the sinews of her neck; the spraying fountain that followed. Father's already ruddy face splashed and practically painted, yellow teeth exposed in a snarl providing a stark contrast.

I just looked at the colors, the colors kept me from fainting or screaming or maybe dying of fright; perhaps kept me from thinking of what would happen if he found me there. I think he had been gone from the room for five minutes by the time I realized it. I don't remember how I got out of there but I did. I just remember hopping out the window and right onto the grass.

All I wanted to do was clean my feet off, that's all I could think of. I remember finding a small puddle and being horrified to even approach it, though I promised myself I would ask for a nice bath later. The blood was off and I rushed back to the main house. I believe the cook let me in through the side door into the kitchen muttering something about "Bloody kid playing outside this time of night." He was more right than he knew. I made it back to my room unnoticed. Somehow I fell right asleep.

Mother tried to keep me in my room for the next day, she got me some little masks to use for my plays. I am sure she did this to keep me from the horrors lurking across the field. A child cannot possibly understand such cruelty, a child must not even get the hint of anything amiss.

Years later I heard some of the lingering whispers about how a madman broke into the servant's house, one of those Irish peasants wandering the countryside resorting to a life of crime to keep them fed. Or maybe Geoffrey was wanted for some crime, or a peeved debtor or angry husband tracked him down.

Father hired a few guards to walk the perimeter, though I suspect it was Matthew's idea. Father resumed his silence, I never said anything. I don't doubt if I did I would have been next. Mother never said anything about it, but her demeanor changed somewhat. I hoped she had some magical hint of what happened. No, it was not magical, it was borne out of years of watching him fall more and more to pieces.

Everyday after that was just normal; quiet, numb. There were no nightmares, there was no jumping at every sound I heard as it was after the cow. There were fewer plays after that, few rehearsals. Everything felt like an act. Mother never said anything, but the way she would embrace me a bit gentler and kiss my forehead a little more felt like she understood something. I felt like I did not have a secret.

Little did I know my horror and fear would all but end a month later.

Thomas Arnold Samuel, 6th Baron Sutcliff was found dead in his bed on the 21 of April, 1768. David was bringing him breakfast and found he would not wake. His doctor said he most likely passed in his sleep. He was never in good health and his drinking likely put him into the grave. I still think drinking was still the culprit, though not the endless amounts of whiskey and brandy he would consume.

No, I now suspect it was from drinking the arsenic my mother instructed he receive in his tea every day like sugar, perhaps my brothers had a hand in it as well. I could never prove anything, of course, but it was this small feeling at the pit of my stomach that someone took measures. Knowing what I do now, all the symptoms were there; he was stumbling all the time even when he didn't smell like liquor, the odd color of his fingernails, how the thick hair he kept into middle age was suddenly thinning.

Though I think it was the way mother went into my room crying, tears gushing, face a right mess.

"I…I…I'm so sorry, Grelly_, mein liebschoen_, you're father is…is…he's gone to heaven."

Cue dramatic arms around her child's shoulders and sobbing into his hair while the servants looked on with tears. A marvelous performance from such a splendid actress; I knew it even then.

We were all in official mourning. The manor was festooned in black, everyone wore black and held white flowers, a lot of people were crying, everything felt…joyful. A pall had been lifted. Polite mourning was in order yet I had to feign that.

It was like the world had been opened up.


	2. Part 2

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 2**

Word of father's death spread quickly. I have a feeling my brothers were on immediate standby for the oh so inevitable occasion. Everyone crawled out from under the respective gilded rocks onto the manor to pay their "condolences."

I recall it was the first time in my memory there was actually life in the walls. Everyone treated this like a pleasant little family reunion. Matthew came straightaway to claim his title, bringing his rather dull wife and their three properly indoctrinated boys with them. Jacob came along shortly after with his latest lady interest, though the biggest moment was when Elijah and Oskar joined us. I had not seen either of them since I was very small.

Elijah immediately greeted me with a warm embrace. He actually treated me like a young boy, asking about what I was learning, what hobbies I had. To him I was not a thing in the way. His own two boys and girl were there too, older than me though they still called me "Uncle." I was rather proud of that, I had my own title of authority. Even so I still played with them, it felt nice to have playmates; run around in the backyard, share each others toys.

I last saw Oskar when he was a schoolboy, he was a tall, handsome man now. He was an officer in the Army and walked in wearing this smart uniform with a gorgeous crimson coat. Oskar brought along his pretty new wife. I remember her mentioning she wanted to watch the children as her and Oskar wanted some of their own. They encouraged me to sing for them, read books to me, showed me how to play the piano.

I felt a bit livelier again, the heaviness lifted, the horrible memories were just that as if nothing had never happened. The bad spirits were chased away and replaced with warm family. Their concerns seemed for my happiness and not the logistics of my being there. For the first time ever I felt the joy of having a family.

Thomas Arnold Samuel, 6th Baron Sutcliff was laid to rest in an expectedly solemn, grand funeral ceremony. Polite solemnity was a marvelous excuse for the lack of tears, though mother squeezed out a few in her typical fashion. The poor, poor dowager. I'm sure she relished the embraces and kind words.

Now that the old bugger was in the ground, Matthew Reginald Henry took the mantle as the 7th Baron Sutcliff and threw a rather modest party with a hundred guests in recognition of this humble passing of the torch. He gradually moved his affairs into the manor, complete with the new lady and three heirs to the title.

My mother took a room next to mine. While she had always been the jovial, life-of-the-party type, her demeanor was noticeably lighter. She seemed happy; despite losing her husband, despite taking second rung to the new lady, I could tell father's death was a relief. The sentiment was universal, even the servants were a bit more pleasant.

Matthew wanted to focus more on "family togetherness," mostly to assert his dominance. Even when his boys were off at boarding school, he would still pull in my mother and I with his wife for quiet family gatherings. All of us would meet for dinner, there would be cricket games on the lawn and chess in the study. He did encourage me to sing one night, a while later he asked me to play some music on the piano. As much of a bastard he was, I had to give Matthew credit for actually recognizing my talents.

I remember the afternoon we all sat for a portrait. All of us collected in the field for this pastoral scene. I was holding the reins of a horse, as by then I was a rather accomplished rider for my young age. The final result was breathtaking, the artist was truly gifted with a brush. To my knowledge it is mounted in the main hallway to this day.

For the next year our house was bustling with life. Business thrived, the baron and his lady entertained visitors and threw parties on a regular basis. Baron Matthew and his lady were rather social creatures; Matthew knew how to woo people, or rather woo them away from their money. As much as it was their manor, my mother loved stealing their thunder. She was ever the social butterfly; I couldn't help but watch her intently.

Oh how she would move through the pretty crowds, the laughs and smiles when she charmed everyone from dukes to accountants, whispering gossip and subtly ruining reputations as she went. She had it down to an art form. The new lady was pretty but little going on underneath, no match for the old ghost lingering around.

My brother took credit for getting our family invitations to a dinner party where the king was scheduled to attend, though I know my mother chatted up the right people. It was a marvelous experience. I forgot everything about the rest of the party, it was clearly not memorable by its own merits. Then a trumpet fanfare and the official announcement.

"I present His Majesty King George III and Her Majesty Queen Charlotte."

I stood frozen as they walked in arm in arm, politely waving to their bowing subjects. They were larger than life, yet they looked so human. Mother politely tugged on my arm and I broke from my daze to bow grandly to our monarch and his consort.

They did not stay long, long enough for a few words with our host, the Viscount of Devon, and a receiving line. Mother had instructed me on the proper way to greet royalty, though I hoped I did not forget those instructions in the excitement of the occasion. It was finally my turn in line and gave him a polite bow like the gentleman I was. The king gave me a little pat in the head in return; I felt as if I had been anointed. The Divine Right of Kings may have been a bit old fashioned by that day, though some old sentiments like to linger especially to Englishmen.

Alas His and Her Majesties left with as much fanfare as they appeared. I was practically breathless, what a memorable moment.

It was a continuous cycle of merrymaking, parties, and entertaining. Matthew hired several tutors for me, though their presence was more a pause than an interruption. A few months before I turned 10, however, this all came to a rather abrupt end.

Matthew and mother sat me down and told me I was going to boarding school and leaving in two months. No prior warning, no indications I should have been ready for it. In hindsight I should have expected this; all the boys in our family were sent to boarding school around my age. Perhaps I didn't want to remember, though I was a child and children do not relish more responsibility.

I was hardly quiet on the matter, but all I received for my protests was a stern look from my brother and a gaze of supposed sympathy from my mother; no words, just cold gazes. The matter was done and I was being a loud little brat about the whole thing.

Two months of moping and packing later, I boarded a carriage to King's Crest Academy near the coast. Nearly a day of travel later, I smelled the ocean and saw this gorgeous estate just a few steps from the seashore. I departed the carriage to see a rather large assembly of boys around my age, all dressed impeccably and talking about everything from ball games to the thinkers of the day. I jumped into one conversation easily and the rest wrote itself. I felt like I was home.

The homesickness was resolved within a week and replaced with an immense happiness. I made friends easily, a few passing words would turn into days of talking and several lunches together. I traveled in numerous circles with everyone from foreign princes to the sons of merchants. All of us had our childhood in common no matter where we came from, which forged easy connections.

My classes were also spectacular. The curriculum was fit to educate young men in the ways of the era; critical reasoning, culture, discourse. Our instructors were educating future leaders not herding a bunch of brats. Within a year I was nearly fluent in French and had a strong grasp of Latin. I took up the violin more as a hobby though I was soon playing recitals and small group concertos.

My dearest activity at the time was equestrian competition. I was most proud on the track and on the course, mounted high and guiding my horse friend. I befriended school pony named Anna and we worked to make for some flawless riding.

There was one moment that is more humiliating for me now but at the time it was absolutely disastrous. Anna and I were practicing, I failed to tighten her reins enough over a jump and her hoof hit the fence. I went tumbling down to the sound of screams from all around me. I then planted face first on the track; for some reason I was waiting for my neck to snap back. For a moment I wondered what death felt like, what does a person see when they are about to die? Is it like falling asleep, or is it agonizing hell.

My curiosity was not satiated. My face skimmed the gravel and my two front teeth slapped hard against a rock. It hurt a lot, but I was alive; I was alive and immediately able to roll on my back and come to a sit, facing the numerous adults running to me and ready to scoop me to my feet.

My face was a mess for weeks, my nose and forehead all scraped up. The worst part was my two front teeth were badly chipped; I never had the nicest most perfect teeth, but they looked pointed. I was so self-conscious; my face was a ghastly mess, all scraped up, bandaged up, oozing in blood and juices. I wanted to wear a sack over my head, I couldn't stand being seen.

My mates were actually sympathetic, which made me feel a bit better about my appearance; "You got the best of that dirt, Sutcliff." "Someone crosses you, just say you'll bite them." "My dad says battle scars make a man." I would remove the bandage from my forehead to entertain them with the blood and torn skin. Even noble little boys were still little boys.

The scrapes gradually healed. I did get a very faint scar on my forehead that only I seemed to notice, though my hair rendered it invisible. I was horrified about the damage to my teeth at first, despite the gentle ribbing by my peers I was dreadfully self conscious. Scratches and scrapes could heal, but this was permanent. After about a week or so I became more and more accustomed to seeing myself in the mirror. I actually started to like what I saw, it reminded me of a cat in a way; pretty but with sharp teeth.

How I loved King's Crest. I would be there in these splendid halls with my dear friends. Holidays and summers I would return to my usual stuffy home. Despite all the entertaining my brother and his lady did, it did not feel the same.

My mother used to be my greatest companion, though matters were different the first time I came home. I was a young man now, the younger boy she knew was gone though I felt this lingering sense of resentment over the sudden talk with Matthew about boarding school. I felt like she turned on me; as much as I enjoyed my school I felt she was part of a conspiracy in a way. The longer she stayed in this house with Matthew, the less secure I felt.

My feeling of unease only grew the more days passed. Mother became a bit more distant, loving and doting still something felt off. I asked her lady servant Emily if something had been bothering her. She had not been well lately, was all I was told. We did go to London at the end of the summer, saw a few plays, though it wasn't the same.

Matthew spent the summer ignoring me as usual. Even the children were a little older and more reflected their father's complete lack of humor. I was thankful when I returned to school and to my friends.

It was the usual dance for the next three years, blissful time at school balanced with increasingly awkward returns home. Mother was spending more and more time sitting or in bed. It was none of my business what was wrong with her. Go back to playing, Grell, leave the concerns to the adults.

A bright spark of life lit at the end of the third summer. My brother Oskar and his wife Elizabeth visited for a few weeks with their two small children. Oskar was to be deployed to the American Colonies soon to try to keep peace among the restless natives, this stay was a bit of a last hurrah with the family before dealing with the animals overseas.

I actually got a chance to bond with one of my brothers. I was 13, a bit older and more able to relate to an adult who actually made the effort. Oskar had always related to me as an older brother to a younger brother and I was infinitely appreciative. He was rather social even with a 13-year-old and his wife was just darling.

She was four months with another child, I got the opportunity to feel the small bump. A little life was in there, that absolutely amazed me. I was actually curious about what it was like to carry a life. She said it was exhausting, she could have done without some of the growing in places and aches and pains. The final moments had been arduous and painful, but there was that one moment of miracle when it was all worthwhile. I believe I was actually jealous of her for having this power.

I learned that Oskar loved to fish, an activity I found a little disconcerting at first. He took me out to a little pond in the woods and I was hardly amused; waking up before dawn to spend the time in the grass with a line in the water not to mention the slimy, dirty worm. I quickly adapted, even found I enjoyed myself.

I volunteered to hook the worm after a few minutes, watching its slimy little body wriggling in my hand and flailing its cylindrical form once the hook pierced through its flesh. Did this creature know it was doomed? Did it know it was about to slowly drown or be eaten alive? Perhaps it lacked the mental capacity to understand what its fate would be, or maybe an agonizing death was not possible. After a while, my line bobbed down. Oskar showed me how to pull it in and sure enough a small perch dangled in the air.

It flailed violently as I brought it in. I held the line and watched as it waggled, its mouth gaping open and gills flapping in the open air. Fish required water, this meant my friend was slowly suffocating. I put it in a wooden pail and kept half an eye on it as its flailing slowed, its gills closed a little more. It was dying; I felt privileged to be there for this moment.

Four more went in the pail between the two of us. We had a picnic lunch, I told him about school, about riding, about music, about my friends. I babbled on quite a bit, but he listened with interest. This was not fake interest, I knew what that looked like. No, this was real, genuine caring.

We returned to the manor later in the day and had the cook prepare the fish for a small lunch. I got to eat a creature that I brought out of the water; I creature whose life I ended. I found that fascinating, it added to the flavor a bit.

Oskar and his family left the next evening. He actually embraced me, few people in the family ever embraced me. It felt good.

I wrote him in the following weeks and would regularly get letters in return. His regiment was stationed around Boston and he would tell me small stories; how the dress was a bit like ours but more rustic, how the locals had a fancy for beans baked in molasses, and the leaves actually turned gorgeous hues of red and orange in autumn. I am sure his commanders were reading every letter to make sure nothing sensitive leaked out, though it was all mundane. I told him about school, about my recitals, and any other odd thing going on in my small existence.

That would be the last year things were ever normal for me; pieces started to change and I had no idea the impact. By the middle of next year none of my clothes fit; my trousers were too short for me almost overnight and all my sleeves barely covered my arms. My graceful voice that could sing soprano was failing me; cracking, sounding much different. Then there was the moment when in the midst of a conversation the pitch dropped. By the end of the week I did not recognize my own voice any more; it was not pretty, it was low and clumsy.

Patches of hair grew practically all over me, it felt disgusting especially the prickly points that formed over my lip and around my chin. The school had a barber on staff and I had my first experience of having a blade dragged across my face. I was scared at first, I had heard of men having patches of skin even their noses cut off with these things. It went smoothly, a couple nicks that leaked pretty crimson down my cheek but not enough to mar my face. The results were infinitely preferable to the previous conditions.

"You're a man now," I would hear over and over again. I was supposed to be happy about that; was it wrong that I wasn't? I eventually got more mature, adult clothes; the finest materials of course, though I wished I enjoyed them more. They were all so dark and proper, a perfect metaphor for what the future would hold.

Some of my older friends were graduating, a few others were leaving early to pursue business or tend to family concerns. There were murmurs that war was imminent in the American Colonies, the native unrest was turning to violence and inevitably full scale rebellion. Many of my friends and their families faced significant loss of business if the rebellion escalated.

I had a little more to lose by these events. Oskar was over there to keep the peace, would he be fighting a war next? The thought was rather unsettling. He was a hearty lot who always had a smile; he would come home with some interesting stories to tell I was sure of it. Would he be able to kill a man not to mention a whole army of them?

Aim, fire, blow their heads open, stick bayonets through their throats? Face a whole battlefield soaked with blood and littered with dismembered corpses? Was Oskar capable of killing? I was almost as curious about this as I was of his experiences.

I got a letter from him just after New Years. "It's bloody cold here, but the snow is rather lovely. They don't celebrate Christmas, so no carols and trees here. Though the lads in my unit put some socks on a little tree near our encampment. It looked festive enough. We managed to catch some rabbits and it made for a lovely feast. I hope you had a large Christmas feast and a tree full of presents."

I wrote him right back:

"I bribed Matthew into letting me spend Christmas at school and it was brilliant. The cooks prepared us pheasant and we gave each other little trinkets. It rained a little, it probably wasn't as lovely here as it is where you are."

I had just returned home at the end of term when David summoned all of us into the study. I was there, mother was already sitting in her chair wringing her hands. Matthew's boys were there as was his wife. Matthew stood next to a man in a red army uniform wearing a white wig topped with a tricorne, standing there like a rod was jammed up his arse. He had a parchment in hand, none of us spoke. He unfurled the parchment and read

"To Matthew, 7th Baron Sutcliff and family,

The War Office, with great regret, hereby notifies you Capt. Oskar Friedrich Sutcliff was listed among the dead in a battle with Colonial rebels in Concord, Massachusetts on the 19th of April in the Year of Our Lord 1775. He is interred near the battlefield with the rest of his fallen comrades. May God rest his soul.

Signed,

William, 2nd Viscount Barrington

Secretary at War

God Save the King"

A few shaking sobs, then mother let out a long wail. I heard the shuffle of feet and a few repeats of "It's all right, we're here for you, gran" from the kids.

I stood and stared at the floor. I just wished mother would stop screaming.


	3. Part 3

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 3**

Matthew was making arrangements for a memorial service almost as soon as he tipped the messenger and sent him on his merry way. He returned to make one of his usual grand statements to bring the family together.

"Our dear brother is not with us in body; his spirit is with the Almighty, but we must remember him" or some bollocks of that nature.

I could barely hear him over mother's raspy sobs. Dear God I just wanted her to shut it, that was all I could think of. The screeching was making my temples pound.

Emily managed to coax her to rising and practically carried her to her room. I thought of joining her for a second, a second after that I was practically running to my own room. My violin didn't leave my hand for what had to have been hours. I was ready to shove the bow down the throat of the first person who knocked on my door, but everyone knew better or rather everyone folded themselves back into their own viewpoints. The blinders went back on, no one else in the universe existed.

Hours passed, days passed. A few more people came; Jacob was alone this time and sans fille du jour, or rather whore-of-the-month. Elijah and family were here as well but I couldn't have cared; he just another stranger. I wanted all of them gone, I wanted everyone gone, but I was halfway gone to begin with.

I felt nothing, just cold emptiness. I can't properly describe it as pain or mourning, it was just…desperation maybe? An opening chasm in the pit of my chest that drew in shadows. A closed void I had felt for as long as I remember that finally opened up, ready to swallow everything.

I tried to cry; I would sit down with my head in my hands and relax, let the tears come. Always nothing; a pressure in my forehead but always the same hollow calm. I wanted to wail and sob have my face soaked in tears but it never happened.

This state did work to my advantage, I was able to show proper decorum during the memorial service. Not a stiff upper lip broke in the church. The whole thing was the usual funeral liturgy: "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the Lord is my shepherd" and all that. Elijah got a speaking part in this whole comedy.

"Oskar, I would raise you up on my shoulders when we are boys. Now you are even higher than I can reach. You are off my shoulders, but you are in the arms of the Lord. You are in paradise, my brother. We miss you here on earth, but may we strive to all be in your heavenly home with our Lord Jesus Christ."

Well intended delivery, but dreadfully overacted. I could practically see the crucified Christ on the cross over us rolling His eyes.

It was a small assembly, only family members making the obligatory appearance. Mother sat in the front row practically slumped into Emily's arms. I heard a few whimpers from her, she must have been too tired to cry by this point. There was one delivery of tears I would gladly have heard, even a few sighs, but alas Oskar's wife was absent from this gathering.

We received a letter from her a few days before; she and the children were with her own family managing through this tragedy. She sent her regards and appreciated any prayers and thoughts we could give for Oskar and his three small children. I wished I could be in that household too. I didn't know much about Elizabeth's family, her father was an executive with a trading company and she described him as a good man. I wondered if they were better than this lot.

The farce ended in the family plot out back; Oskar was given a nice stone next to father's. All I saw was a slab of granite shoved into the ground, that's all it was. My brother wasn't properly planted in the ground, he was likely tossed into a pit with the rest of the English soldiers who were blown apart by the Colonials.

Was he buried in one piece, or were pieces of him tossed into a hole? Perhaps he was scattered around and they planted what they could. I often thought about how he may have died, no specifics were ever given. Simply he was "reported among the dead." I imagined what he would look like lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood; a ball to the back of the head, skull splitting and brains flying in all directions, landing prone before being trampled by the remaining formation. Or perhaps he was the x on the spot of a cannonball, 100 stone lead weight crushing him into the grass or the weight plus the powder blast tearing his limbs from him.

How long could one live after being hit by a cannonball, would death be instantaneous or were there a few lingering seconds before life processes ceased? What if death was slower, what if he took a ball to the leg and died from the pain and shock of his leg being sawed off?

Ghastly thoughts, yes; perhaps a bit mad. One should not think on their loved ones as torn corpses, should not think of what a brother would sound like screaming or gurgling on his own blood. It was one small thread to pull me through all this; contemplation of reality perhaps amongst all this perverse ceremony. Or maybe it was better to think on my brother as a thing, an animal, just a doll torn apart. It justified my utter lack of feeling; a broken object should not move emotions, it should be simply tossed into a hole and forgotten.

There was no hole here, there was simply a marker: "Oskar Friedrich Sutcliff, Born: 9 Jan., 1747, Died: 19 April, 1775, Aged 28 years. Captain in His Majesty's Army, Husband of Elizabeth, Father of Adam, Marcus, and Sarah."

I didn't hang about for the polite condolences that turned into business conversation and chit-chat about the weather. I left for the manor alone, hearing a few whispers of "Grell must be taking this hard, poor boy."

The relatives scattered again by the end of the week. Mother never left her room, I visited regularly; she was all I had left. For all we had grown apart in the last five years, I owed this much to her; my pride meant nothing.

Another routine for the rest of the summer. We would chat a bit, she would ask me to sing for her or play music. Occasionally I would read her books. She would sit in this large, red velvet chair in her night robes mostly staring at the wall and occasionally glancing at me. Invariably she would fall asleep at one point or have some pain and Emily would run in and chase me out.

"She needs her rest, she is not well," I always heard.

I would always walk off, at first I glared back only to get a glare in return. My blood would boil, but it would do nothing to prevent me walking out of her room alone into the cold emptiness of everything.

That summer was pure hell, it just dragged by. I practically counted the days like a man buried in a cell scraping tally marks in the stone wall. Oh God get me out of this pit and away from these bastards. Music, riding, all just part of the routine, nothing held my interest as it did before. All was merely hollow, quiet. Desperation, just waiting for something to fill the hole.

Matthew made some offhand comment about how I should spend less time laying about and work towards my future. I was a few months from turning 16 and about to enter my last two years at King's Crest. Perhaps an informal apprenticeship with the company, Jacob was apparently interested in seeing if I was good for anything. Given his history with workers, he wanted to see how far he could push me before I collapsed or fell on my knees before him. University seemed the most likely route, though Matthew and anyone else in the conspiracy would probably dangle the purse over my head to pursue the most boring course of studies.

I knew I was better served considering all options or pretending I was. I didn't trust anyone in my family as far as I could throw them in a burlap sack. I didn't even want to know what other options they were considering for me; selling me out to the military, arranged marriage, perhaps cutting me off entirely. I was a pawn to them or perhaps dead weight they wanted to dress as nicely as possible to maintain their reputations. Sounded familiar.

I shut out all of it. I reached a point where I wanted to laugh at everything, it was all so ridiculous.

In late July I decided to dig out the fishing rod Oskar gave me during that fateful time. I put on some rough clothes and trudged out to the pond near a small patch of woods where we had sat talking with our lines in the water, him grabbing my arms and showing me to reel in a fish, me ready with the pail when he pulled one out. It was just me this time. I dug the worms myself; completely disgusting, it would take days for me to get the soil and slime from under my fingernails but I at least hoped it would be worth the suffering.

I pulled the worm out of the bucket, feeling a warm sense of familiarity as it wriggled about. The feel of its body squishing through my hook brought back a few old feelings, though it was different when I cast my line. I sat in the grass for hours, line in the water and trying to connect with nature or feel inner peace as I always heard this is supposed to do. I was only connecting with the dew seeping through my trousers and making me feel rather agitated.

At last my line bobbed down. I pulled it in as Oskar had showed me, my prey struggling a bit but no match for me. A small carp, a tad bigger than my hand, flew from the water and I yanked it to shore, it flopped about in my hands. The scales and slime coating its body were not pleasant to feel, but I did hold on. Putting it in the bucket was a fleeting thought, I held onto it against its flailing. It's gills were flapping in the air, its mouth gaping. I wanted to feel every second of it suffocating, I wanted to watch its life essence drain from it.

It started to weaken, I sat back down in the grass and watched its gills flap a little less and its gaping mouth still. Death was coming quickly for this creature, somehow I was a little disappointed. I reached down to my tackle box and pulled up a filet knife, laying the creature in the grass. It would need to be gutted anyway, might as well see what happens if I started the process early. The fish still flailed a bit, though I firmly gripped its top section.

I shoved the point of the blade in between its swimming fins, piercing the flesh and watching juices ooze out. It flailed a bit more as cut further through its scaly flesh and opened it. Its organs were still pulsating inside its body, it was fascinating. I took the point of the blade and gently moved what looked like its intestines to see a tiny heart beating in its ribcage. Alas my knife cut into its intestine and green gunk poured out. Its flailing stilled rapidly. My thumb and forefinger reached inside and with a little more prying I grabbed its little heart and yanked it out, feeling tissues snap. The creature still shifted, the heart was like a self-inflating ball in my palm; pump-pump, pump-pump. I watched it in awe. Gradually its pumping stopped and the fish in my hand was fully still.

My hands were dreadfully dirty, though I did not mind this as much. I washed them off in the pond, though I would need a bath after this. I fully gutted the fish, tossing its organs into the pond. I then packed up my tackle box and returned to the manor, later going into the kitchen and asking the Archie the cook if I could roast my catch. He didn't care, he was making bread at the moment and did not require the main fireplace. He even congratulated me on my catch, even if it was a small one. I put the fish on a roasting stick and put it over the fire until it was nicely cooked. Archie would occasionally give little tips for roasting it, the angle near the fire, what to look for when its done. When it was finished I put it on a plate with some crackers and mint jelly for a lovely lunch.

I told mother about my small catch a few days later, trying not to mention how Oskar was the one who first showed me how to fish. I could tell by her slightly sad expression she had a feeling. I turned the conversation to how Archie cooperated with me, even gave me tips.

"Maybe you have a future as a chef," she said with a smile. It wasn't a horrible idea though I wasn't all that impressed. She would fall asleep after that and I would leave her room quietly.

I visited more with mother in August as I would be returning to school soon. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I should spend every moment with her I could before I left; the feeling that every moment was our last few.

Mother was interrupted from conversation one day by some sort of cramp, her face tightened and she cried out. I grabbed her hand just as I heard the door slam open and Emily's little feet shuffle across the room.

"You're mother needs her medicine, out with you," she said.

I was tired of her attitude, her tone right now was particularly grating on me. Next thing I knew a hand was on my wrist and she was dragging me out. I let her. I was shoved into the hallway and immediately grabbed her wrist hard, pulling her out the door and shutting it. I yanked her face into mine, she sputtered indignantly.

"I have had quite enough of your attitude, Miss Geddney," I said through gritted teeth.

She let out a yelp as I gripped her wrist hard and twisted.

"May I remind you I am the baron's brother and a man of this house, you will not speak to me in such a manner again," I said, keeping pressure on her wrist. She just stood there glaring at me, though she was trembling violently. "That is my mother in your charge, and she is ill. I demand you tell me what is wrong with her. Refuse this order and I will see to it you lose that position."

Emily grunted and pulled back. I let her go and she fell back a few steps before taking a few more back to me while rubbing her wrist.

"Are you so heartless you cannot let your mother be?" she sputtered. "That woman has been through too much. She is a frail lady who has just lost her son in what was likely a gruesome manner. If you truly love your mother, you will not put her under such a strain. And you are barely a man of the house, Grell Sutcliff; you are a child and clearly acting like it. The baron will receive word of your attitude and I am sure he will agree with me."

The baron would have agreed with me that she was out of line and I am sure she knew it herself. When I think on it now I only hear panic in her voice. She was desperately trying to keep something from me and doing everything she could to get me to leave the matter alone. She was successful; I did leave the matter alone but I'm sure she did not expect the results. No one did, not the servants passing by, not Matthew's 12-year-old son walking by with his favorite puppy shuffling beside him; I probably didn't either but wasn't surprised. I heard the footsteps and I heard the small whine and scratching claws of the animal, but to me no one else was there.

I took a step back. She glared at me and started walking back to the door. My hands were on her shoulders and I swung her face against the wall. Blood gushed from her nose and she screamed. I grabbed the back of her gray hair and repeatedly smacked her face into the wall. Her screams were piercing music, the spatter of her blood against the wall like a sconce of roses. My knee was buried in the ribbon of her black dress and I could feel her little body flailing and squirming; desperately trying to get up. Her screams became low whimpers, a sound coming from the same woman who called me a child just seconds ago. Oh how lovely her face looked covered in crimson.

I stopped, mouth frozen in a smirk as I got up. She curled into a ball by the wall and sobbed. I looked up to see one of the cleaning ladies staring at the scene in horror, David pausing for a moment to push her along and quickly padding away. Then there was little Robbie staring at me with his mouth gaping open. All I could do was smile at all of them as I walked away.

I felt a bit lighter. I went into my room and played some happier music, though my hands were shaking so hard I barely kept my violin up. My mind was completely empty, my subconscious reading the music and telling my arms and fingers what to do. I don't know how long this went on. Eventually a few conscious thoughts floated through my brain, a few recollections of what happened. It was mostly imagining how mother reacted to this, occasionally how Matthew reacted. A few slipped through about the act itself though I let them fly by. I wanted nothing to ruin my mood now; this was the first time in too long I actually felt pure serenity.

Then the inevitable knock on the door with David on the other side, something about "The baron wishes to speak to you." I sweated a bit, yes though I was surprised at how calm I was. David walked me down to Matthew's office with his usual stiff gait. I wondered if being around me made him nervous, then I remembered he spent decades with my father. Nothing could faze this man at this point, what I did was a common occurrence.

At last he dropped me off in Matthew's office. Matthew was sitting at his large oak desk and looking over papers, he dismissed David with barely a grunt and I stood there properly. I was a bit anxious, but in truth I couldn't have given a damn about what he was going to say to me.

After a few seconds of him signing some paper or whatnot, he finally glanced at me.

"You know why I asked you here, Grell," he said.

"Yes," I replied, remembering to keep my tone even.

"All right, then we can get to the point," Matthew said, finally dropping his pen in the inkwell and folding his pudgy hands on the desk. Practically every member of our family had these cold, watery blue eyes too; one look was a chilling frost. His were locked right on me, my own stayed to his desk until the right moment. "What the devil was going on in your head?"

"I lost my temper," I said. "I hope you also heard how Emily was speaking to me."

"That part I did hear," Matthew said. "Emily is not going unpunished for her insubordination, I can assure you. Your conduct, Grell, was reprehensible. You should have come straight to me the moment she spoke out of turn. It took me years to undo the damage my predecessor did to the morale of our servants, the last thing I need is having that bungled. If you're cross, find other avenues of release and do not take any ill temper out on the servants. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes sir," I said.

"We will not have this discussion again," he said, his eyes going back to his paperwork.

"Understood sir," I said.

"That will be all," he said, taking his pen out of the well and going back to his paperwork. He apparently thought his point was made.

I gave a small bow and walked out the door. This matter was closed.

I visited mother the next day.

"I heard you were a little feisty the other day," she said in a lightly scolding tone with a laugh. "She is a yipping little bitch, yes, can't say she didn't deserve it. But you were a little rough on her, don't you think."

"A bit yes," I said.

Her hand reached up and tousled my hair. It was like she was slapping me on the shoulder for acting silly but smiling on it. God how I loved this woman.

I never saw Emily again. Mother never mentioned her from that day on and Matthew certainly wouldn't tell me anything. I wasn't really interested in asking the servants, but then all of them kept a few extra paces from me from that day on.

Robert, however, did feed me a piece of his mind a few days later. We passed in the hallway and he stopped and grabbed my arm with one hand while pulling back his puppy's leash with the other hand.

"Forgive me, Uncle Grell, but I have to say something," he said. "I saw what you did to Emily and I hope you feel bad about it."

This was serious business, a man-to-man talk. Robert was a little man since he was barely able to walk and his father never expected any less of him. He and his brothers were not children, they were small gentlemen and Matthew made sure that was never forgotten. Their mother allowed them a few indulgences, such as the little corgi puppy sniffing at Robert's leg and whining. I tried not to smile at the pathetic contrast.

"She was bleeding all over the place and crying, it was horrible and you did that," he continued, I could hear a hint of a sob in his tough voice. "What did she do to deserve that? I never thought you were a bad person, Uncle Grell, and I don't want to think that but I do. But I know people make mistakes, so tell me you feel bad about what you did. Tell me you regret it and I'll think better of you."

The puppy, I believe its name was Hunter, was jumping up on his leg; I so hoped it would bite him or at least piss on him. No such luck. I gave a long sigh bowed my head.

"I'm sorry, Robbie," I said looking into his eyes. "I am deeply sorry for what I've done. I lost my temper and I did something that pains me to think on it now. My actions were horrible, I know that and yes I deeply regret what I've done. I only ask for forgiveness so we can put the past behind us and continue forward for the better."

Robbie nodded.

"I forgive you, but please let this be a lesson," he said.

"I have learned a lot indeed," I said.

"Thank you for this talk," he said, giving a small bow and walking away.

A week before I returned to school, Hunter disappeared from the house. Robbie was looking all around, asking people if they had seen his little doggie and having some of the servants look around for him. I came in from fishing just as Matthew was telling him he needed to keep an eye on that thing.

"Grell, Robert has lost his dog," Matthew said to me as I walked in. "You haven't seen it have you."

"No, sorry," I said. "I haven't seen it since yesterday."

"Do you know if he followed you outside?" Robbie asked.

"Sorry no, and I made sure to look too."

"It could have followed anyone out or someone left a door open," Matthew said to his son while walking off. "If you're going to take care of an animal you need to take responsibility for it."

I told him I would help him look for it after changing. He was content with the answer and went off to search a little more.

After all, I needed to go upstairs and get a new shirt; I had to tuck in the one I was wearing to cover the red spatters. I wanted to clean off my filet knife a little later, I rinsed it off in the pond but couldn't get all the blood off it. Blood can rust a blade terribly.

The groundskeeper found Hunter's body later near a patch of trees, recognizable only by a few patches of gold and white fur around the torn carcass. He delivered the sad news to the lady of the house who gently delivered it to Robert. We'd been having problems with foxes for months, but our new batch of chickens was kept protected by a heavily fortified fence for which our family held the patent. Poor little Hunter probably wandered out and was not so protected.

Robbie was devastated, he went up to his room and cried for an hour. He was dejected for days, but his loving uncle was always there to listen to his sorrows and play checkers with him to take his mind off his pain.

"You really are a good man, Uncle Grell," he said one day.

I just patted his shoulder and smiled.


	4. Part 4

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of rape and bullying that might be triggers for people.

**Part 4**

I spent most of the final days of the summer holiday in mother's room. Matthew had assigned one of the maids to look after her; a young woman who practically ran whenever she came within sight of me. I was sweet as could be with her, she would stutter and tremble if she had to say a word to me. What did Machiavelli say about being loved or feared? I personally found the former was harder to come by whilst the latter earned me a measure of respect; there was no dilemma here.

If I was to gain any enjoyment out of the end of that hellish summer it would be to spend what would probably be the last few days I could with my mother. The feeling grew stronger. To be proven wrong would have been a miraculous shock, though I didn't put too much stock into the concept of miracles. It was best to enjoy her presence when I could. We talked, sang, read, all the activities we loved before. In those last hours I believe I regained that appreciation I lost years ago. It felt good to make peace with something; the only peace I truly had. A peace I knew would leave me soon, the irony was hilarious.

At last the carriage was packed with my belongings. David knocked on mother's door to tell me it was time to depart. I looked at her helplessly, but I was ready for this moment. She ran a hand through my hair and smiled.

"Get out of this golden sinkhole and all the rats that crawl around here, go be with your friends," she said.

"What about you, mum," I asked.

"Don't worry about me, _liebschoen, _I can handle myself just fine."

"I don't doubt that. You go keep the bastards in line."

"Well ahead of you on that one."

She grabbed the sides of my head and kissed me on the cheek, I clutched her shoulders and returned the gesture.

"I love you so much, mum," I said.

"I love you too, Grelly, my dear one."

We separated from each other. I took one last look at her and blew her a kiss, she put her fingers to her lips and laughed. I then turned around and closed the door. Was I at peace now? I figured I was, I should have been.

After that I couldn't get into the carriage fast enough. Robert insisted on giving me his personal well wishes, which I accepted gratefully. Inside I was glad to be away from the little bastard. There was barely a word from anyone else and I preferred it that way. After three months of hell here I was finally returning to the sanctuary of my school.

The first sight of that grand building was like looking upon paradise. I exited the carriage and immediately met with some of my mates, the greetings and instant conversations were a miracle.

Word spread through the noble circles about Oskar's death. I received many sincere condolences from students, many from my friends and many from students I had only known in passing; possibly the only sincere expressions of remorse I had heard for Oskar's death from anyone besides mother. I thanked them for their words and was clear I did not wish to speak further on the matter.

For about a month I was blissfully happy. The conversations resumed, classes resumed, rehearsals, riding practice, the usual routine started up again and continued; day to day, hour to hour. The same polite conversations, the same hours spent sitting in a chair in front of a droning instructor, the same sheets of music with slightly different tunes, the same polite claps when doing a course in another record amount of time. But I was happy, but I was supposed to be happy. I was at school with my friends after all, I told this to myself a hundred times.

I told this to myself sitting on my bed for hours trying to talk myself into going to sleep, sitting in my classes trying to squeeze an ounce of interest. Told myself this whilst listening to who played who in cricket, who scored what major business deal, who had whatever meal with whatever member of the peerage who was higher ranked than they. Then I became angry at myself; what the hell is wrong with you, you can't appreciate this wonderful place and these fine friends? If you dislike this place, then what alternatives do you have?

I managed to coast along for another month; fulfill all my obligations, maintain my marks, not be too much of a burden on anyone. A month later I took to occasionally inserting crass comments in the midst of conversation, earning laughs at first and then uncomfortable chuckles. Oh how I savored the tight smiles and nervous shifting. In rehearsals, I would insert off notes so subtle that the conductor would become perturbed over finding what was wrong.

My classmates would sometimes lose a quill or a sheet of paper at random. A few weeks after this, younger students would receive pebbles thrown to their heads by some unknown assailant that often left red marks on visible areas. I started walking around with hairpins and held them in such a way to scratch the hands of students walking by. I loved hearing those sudden yelps, my peripheral vision catching someone pausing and looking around for the culprit that was meters past them.

Being a school for the wealthiest and most privileged, King's Crest had policies that catered to the sensibilities of the wealthiest and most privileged. For an extra few pounds a year, students with good marks and behavior were allowed to keep small, manageable pets; nothing larger and no more predatory than a housecat and all animals had to be cared for and kept in the respective students' rooms. The house staff would even feed them and clean after them within reason.

It wasn't hard to find out who had what animals, who was out of their rooms when, who left their doors unlocked, what times of day no one would be around or everyone would be around and no one would notice a door opening when it shouldn't. And thus the games began: a pet bunny would go missing and turn up in a latrine with its neck broken, a goldfish would find its way into someone's fine teacup just in time for tea.

Then there was a pretty gray cat that wandered from its master's room. I believe the owner's name was Armand and he was the heir to some earldom in God knows where; Fanto-, Phantom-something. He was higher on the rung than I was, but he was an annoying little wretch regardless. I loved seeing him cry to his little friends about finding the head of his kitty on his bookshelf staring at him as he entered the room. He didn't tell them about the bow on its head, I was quite annoyed.

Careful planning went into these incidents, believe me. Silly boys for leaving their doors unlocked when in class or whatever they did, silly them for mentioning their class schedules to me. You'd think these children would be protecting their parents' investment more carefully.

Eventually a notice went around the school of these "deplorable acts of burglary and harassment." Stepped-up hallway patrols soon followed that made my little hobby a bit more difficult. The game paused and I found other ways to amuse myself in the meantime. I became a bit of a mentor to some of the younger children; they would ask me for advice, use me as a shoulder to cry on, confess their woes including any family troubles. Little Johnny walked in on his father, Earl so-and-so, with his mistress, Tom's father's business was nearly bankrupt yet his parents kept up rich appearances, Martin's father, Baron such-and-such, was hiring men to rough up his rivals. Of course I kept all confidences, until offered the right payment or favor.

I enlightened my friends on how animals are prepared for meat at my manor, I thought my narratives were rather detailed. The nervous gestures and constant watch-checking told me my stories were having some impact, though I was disappointed when they would hastily rise and excuse themselves. I had so much more to share. I did appreciate it when others would stick around, I would invariably reward them with an arm around the shoulder, maybe a few fingers over their faces. I wouldn't touch a nasty powdered wig, but those who displayed their real hair would be rewarded with my fingers through it. Unfortunately most didn't seem to appreciate the attention, most reactions were politely excusing themselves to lecturing me on my comportment. And they were such lovely boys too; so well groomed, such lovely skin.

I would dream about them too; dream that they would allow me to sit in their laps, run my hands through their luxurious long hair. I would kiss them, caress those taut bodies, and then I would wake in a mess; as if my body didn't feel disgusting enough already. Just a lewd dream, that's all it was. The act itself was a hell-worthy offense meaning no proper God-fearing man willingly do so; as for me, I figured Satan was livelier chap.

Some of my friends managed to humor me a little. "Oh Sutcliff, always the life of the party," they would say with a polite chuckle. Around my 16th birthday, these friends said they were going to drag me to a surprise celebration. Turning 16 meant open campus privileges to those who earned them, meaning a student was allowed to leave school grounds as long as he maintained his marks and proper behavior and was in by 11 o'clock sharp.

The morning of my 16th birthday, I was given my certificate; a little card that said I was authorized to be off campus and had received permission from the headmaster and my guardian. Matthew probably signed the permission form like any other paper that came across his desk and sent it to its proper destination. After classes, my mates took me to Aldeburgh, the nearest town reachable by 15-minute walk, for my "grand celebration;" they had tickets to a small, dinner theatre production of "As You Like It."

I came to this soiree with a hint of optimism but my nigh perpetual foul mood set in as soon as I walked in the building. The acting was mediocre, I could count so many missed cues and botched lines. The meal was barely better; my shoe was more tender than the beef and I swore I found soil in my potatoes.

Perhaps I was judging this whole experience a little too harshly, I wasn't exactly feeling festive midst the lacking show and lively discussion on the pretty noble ladies everyone wanted to drill but were saying so in the politest of terms. I actually stayed on my best behavior through this whole thing, a part of me wanted to show a hint of respect for this nice little gift; then there was the little voice in my brain wanting to wait for my moment to be really offensive.

It was only proper we capped off our evening in a nice pub, one mate bought me a pint like a gentleman. The pint was gone in a few minutes, another mate bought me another; in the spirit of the party and all that. Another empty glass hit the bar and I was digging my coins from my pocket for another. My custom was barely a quarter pint at lunch, maybe a glass of wine or cider at dinner, had been for about a year. This wasn't exactly an environment begging proper decorum, I was curious how many I could pound away before getting truly pissed. I had never been drunk before, I was curious as to what I was capable of. If father could chop up two people while drunk, what kinds of loathsome things could I do? It was a scientific experiment of sorts.

I took part in their conversation after the first few, after another two I was starting to feel giddy. I was a little more talkative, a little more comfortable with these boys. I don't recall exactly what I said, but I do recall giving less of a damn about it than usual. Perhaps I did get bit loud after another two, but I was getting some callbacks from the other end of the bar; boys I recognized as classmates just out on a night of their own.

It became a regular cycle of lads leaving and joining, I stopped keeping track of who went or who stayed. I do recall it was Reginald Kirkney, a student about a year older than me, who came over with a bottle of rum. The glasses were out, I forgot how many toasts there were. At some point I saw all new faces in the circle, some lovely singing voices there were; everyone was close, no fake politeness, but then everyone was drunk.

At some point I remember being outside, not really walking but more being dragged out. Soon I saw the buildings of King's Crest and was told to stand as tall as I could walking past the nightly watch. I must have passed muster since I was in my room without argument soon after. I crashed on my bed and was then dead to the world.

Waking up was a nightmare. Every muscle and bone just ached, my head felt like someone ran over it with two carriages. Moving was horrendous, but necessary to avoid making a mess over myself. Fortunately I had a brass vase filled with pretty purple flowers next to the bed, the flowers and water scattered across the floor and the leftovers of last night's horrible dinner were in the vase. Oh it was disgusting.

Somehow I managed to register the clock on the wall and see I was due for my first class at 8. I don't know how it happened, but I was sitting sharp in my seat for Greek Philosophy at 8 o'clock. The cockeyed look from my instructor and a few passing whispers from my classmates reminded me I didn't exactly look presentable. My hair was down, shirt untucked, waistcoat practically thrown on, I believe my coat was unbuttoned too.

I barely concentrated through class, but my notes were sufficient and I answered questions when asked; groggily but they were answered. I was relieved when the clock sounded marking the end of class. I packed my things and tried to get the hell out of there as fast as I could. The instructor told us our next assignment, adding in, "And hopefully Mr. Sutcliff will prepare himself a bit more for class."

I did go back to my room and get myself a bit more together. I was still ill but the morning after was wearing off a bit. I passed Reg Kirkney around noon and he invited me to lunch with him and his mates, even with my head ready to explode I knew this in itself was a big thing. Reg was the second born son of a Marquis with close ties to the King, some rumors said his family shared a drop of blood or two with His Majesty. I realized my hypocrisy in moaning about all the namedropping and fuss about title done by my friends, but this held a bit of weight. Our encounter the night before was more in passing, this was different.

I met him in a corner of the dining room, approaching a table at which about six other students sat. All of them were peerage, mostly upper echelon; other children of marquises and earls, though a couple came from viscounties or baronies as I was. I recognized many of them from the pub the night before. They rose and pointed out my seat, I bowed and took a place among them.

Conversations started up almost immediately, mostly commencing with questions about how I felt that morning. I managed a few witty analogies to explain my situation, getting a few laughs. I soon found out this was not the typical arse-lapping of the usual noble assembly; it was a rant session, unabashed commentary on families, instructors, servants all done without directly giving away any family secrets or betraying any weaknesses. The language in itself was clean though this group was fond of some bawdy subtext and ribbing. They didn't talk about wooing women, they talked about bedding them and sending them home. The sheer contrariness was brilliant, I felt right at home with this lot.

We met for supper that evening, then met for lunch again the next day and it continued through the week. A few different faces popped in and out, Reg was almost always present for every little meeting. Last classes for the week were on Friday, that night we were back in Aldeburgh at another tavern. I wasn't frittering with the lager this time, I started with some nice port, the rum poured freely soon enough.

The last thing I wanted to do was wake up as sick as I did last time, so I paced myself. After an hour, pacing went out the bloody window; the brandy was out and it got worse from there. The only thing I remember was sitting in a bunch of laps, feeling hair through my fingers, and having no one push me off. There was a lot of singing, a lot of laughing, the world just seemed a happier place when behind a haze. I thought differently when waking up the next day; head screaming, gagging onto my floor, and swearing to God I would never do that to myself again.

I dragged myself to breakfast to find most of the lads were also sleeping it off. I walked in the room to applause.

"Oh Sutcliff, you crazy little ginger," one said to me, Thad Harlowe I believe it was. "You're a riot when you're soused."

"Why?" I asked whilst buttering my bread.

"Oh where shall I begin, rubbing up against the barstool had to have been the best part, I believe you pledged your undying love for it, then kicked it over and called it a 'filthy whore.'" He had to pause, he was laughing so hard. "Then there was that thing you did with the glass, balancing act or something. I think the barmaid wasn't happy to clean up all that glass. You got a round of laughs for that one."

For a moment I was a bit embarrassed, only because it was in front of newer friends who I'd actually taken a liking to. The last thing I wanted was to be cast off, but after last night that was unlikely.

"No, I said it because it was true," I said. "Barstools touch so many underparts. Bottles are more romantic, they touch more lips."

I took a bite of my bread to the background music of laughter. From that day on I got a reputation as the group clown, "The Mad Ginger;" I was rather proud of that designation. I could say as many mental things as I wanted and get into personal spaces and everyone seemed amused by that. Whether they were laughing at or with me I really didn't care. The more time I spent with them the more I realized they weren't exactly proper gentlemen themselves.

Mealtimes became an auction house for gossip and scandalous information. Those other students who weren't good for favors or secrets were passing insects to us, best ignored or swatted and there was quite a bit of swatting. Passing words in the hallway, gentle kicks to the backside so subtle the little bastards didn't know who did it, bags would go missing, papers would go missing, nothing really blatant unless someone did something to truly piss us off which usually constituted any name-calling or insults back at us, sometimes kicking or hitting back. Soon anyone who was viewed as a threat to any of us was a target, but we expanded our sights to anyone who made good sport.

Usually Reg was the one to make the call if someone needed a good slap at best or a full-on beating. I volunteered to deliver a few messages; dropping a dead animal into their bed while they were sleeping was a specialty of mine but I was becoming better at firm neck holds and ear-flicking that would draw screams. I found a spot on the shoulders to push against a wall that would deliver the bones of the shoulder blades into the wood grain. There are so many points on fingers to bend, adding a little fingernail or a hairpin and they're flailing. I started keeping my nails a little longer for the cause, though I started enjoying the length, longer nails made my fingers look a little longer, a little more slender. I kept them well manicured of course, the blood would always be washed off before it could cake on.

We were at the pub at least once, sometimes twice, maybe three times a week if we felt like it. I wanted to see how far I could push myself and how much I could drink before getting tipsy. Always the good poison; rum was the favorite, whisky was a close runner up. I was surprised how many of the lads liked gin, such a low-class spirit but I suppose they would go after anything.

I enjoyed the feeling of inebriation; nothing existed, I was a floating spec of existence surrounded by singing and the occasional yell. I was in a nice plush cushion of oblivion where I had no concerns, nothing looming over me. A break from feeling weighed down all the time by my family, my pseudo-reputation, the constant feeling that I was a walking lump of flesh molded to look like a fit, fair-featured young man; the feeling I was a walking doll and that's all I would ever be. The next day I would wake with the new distraction of trying to move against the throbbing in my head and control where the mess from my stomach would go before dragging myself to class. By the end of the day the drunkenness was long gone, the morning after faded into afternoon, and all returned to the sad state it was before…that was until the next time I could escape with my new friends.

This lot wasn't the type to wear their hearts on their sleeves, but I had this feeling I was not the only one. All of them were drinking their silent cares away as much if not more than I was, the amount of ranting at every meal was testament enough. I was comfortable adding my own little criticisms; how much of a bastard Matthew was, how every member of my family had sticks up their arses.

Reg was beside me through most of this, he would look at me like he cared about what I was saying; probably in a mercenary way but let him have his fun. It was fun to guess what his motives were; his façade was a little more obvious. A handsome, young man from higher nobility. Bright, piercing gray eyes, curly brown hair that fell in ringlets; he wore a ponytail as proper, but he would pull the ribbon out more often than not and let that gorgeous hair cascade down. He was a star cricket player and a true master with a horse; his body was athletic, practically carved from wood. Every time we showed a chosen target his place, Reg was always the one to control any damage; he was a master of persuasion.

"Listen, this is nothing personal," he would say to the mewling little brat with snot and blood running from his nose. "You needed some tough love, that's all. This lesson was yours alone, I wouldn't advise telling anyone else about this. Think of the shame you would bring to your family."

It was evident all the other lads in our little gang clamored for personal attention from him, if he talked to you one-on-one it was like receiving attention from a prince as that was how he was generally seen. I fell into this mix too; heart a flutter with my share of the attention. I really didn't give a damn about his station, my interests were purely carnal. How often his face flew through my mind in moments before sleep or while bathing when it was just me and my hand. How I imagined his breath against my face, that chiseled body pressed against mine. I was sure I wasn't the only one; morals and reputation be damned, the others were likely thinking of him while tossing off too.

I was a bit surprised when Reg asked me something rather personal in the middle of a night out.

"You've banged before, right?"

I nearly spit out my whisky at that question but kept my composure. He was a little giddy by now, though I figured this was his version of "man talk." I really didn't know how to answer that.

"I'll take that as a no," he said with a chuckle. "What, you're not a religious man are you, or saving yourself for your intended?"

"Bloody hell no to all of that," I said.

"Not like that's stopping you, Reg," one of the boys commented from the side.

"Fuck no," he promptly replied.

I practically shot a glare over to him, but tried to soften my expression to one more of curiosity.

"Which one are you?" I asked

He rolled his eyes and took a drink.

"It's no secret, I'm in a business arrangement so to speak," he said. "A second cousin, her blasted family wants to marry up so I'm stuck with her."

I relaxed a bit.

"Rotten luck, mate," I said.

"You're telling me," Reg said, "she's got the face of a bloody horse."

The subject was lost as soon as it was brought about. The night progressed and the drunker I became. It was not just my usual smashed either, this was a bit different. I usually am a bit livelier, but here I was starting to get sleepy; blacking out more moments than usual. My stomach was already starting to churn when it would usually wait until the morning after.

I recall Reg putting my arm over his shoulder, saying something about "looks like it's bedtime for you, chap," Somehow I managed to walk back to campus leaning on Reg, a couple of the others helping me along. I think I heaved a few times on the path back but didn't remember; I only knew from the way my throat hurt and my gut felt raw.

I realized I was back inside the building, the usual rugs and doorways practically floating under my feet like waves drifting over the shoreline. The journey suddenly stopped and I collapsed against a soft surface, a mattress from the feel of it though I was unsure of many things at this point. I moved a bit, or rather someone moved me.

"Bloody hell, what did you drink tonight," I heard Reg's voice like a distant echo. I wondered that for a moment myself.

I turned my head slightly and felt a blanket against my face, my arms above me and tips of my boots digging into the fabric. There was a shifting on the bed and a weight pressed against the backs of my thighs.

"You need to watch out for yourself, friend," Reg said, his voice was now directly over me.

I managed a low groan. A set of hands was running over my back, untucking my shirt and running over the bare flesh. The conscious part of me was joyous, the rest of me was trying to stay awake. I was frozen, unable to move anything. Fingers dipped under the waist of my trousers, caressing my backside but slowly creeping up front. Bloody hell, why couldn't he do this when I was sober, I wanted to say as much but was too weak to speak.

Oh his hands felt so nice, soft like a gentleman but with nice calluses from holding reins that added that extra bit. I felt my trousers slide down, this was where I felt a little more curious.

"Oh you take good care of yourself," I heard him say. "So fit, so nicely chiseled."

I felt his bare flesh against mine but could barely keep my eyes open. Damn him! Is this how he was going to woo me? Get me numbed up and do what he pleased. I wanted to stretch up and participate too but I was frozen. Somehow I finally realized this was not just the drink; he probably slipped something into my glass. Laudanum likely, I had seen plenty of my mates after they added a little kiss to their own glasses.

His hands caressed my backside again, then I felt a sting; a finger somewhere that never had been explored. I went from turned on to near panicked, I wanted to flail but could not move at all. Then I felt like I was being ripped apart from the backside forward and again and again. I felt little pain from the drug, but it still hurt. Hands were now on my shoulder, a toned stomach covered in sweat rubbing against my back. And here I was frozen to the bed; my survival instincts kicking in and wanting to get out of there, but it was not happening. I realized I was completely powerless and it scared the hell out of me.

I felt like I was there for an eternity, the pain eventually faded. I started thinking to myself that I wanted to enjoy this, I wanted to be sober enough to enjoy every moment. At last I heard some grunting and a new sensation. Another sting and some relief, I think I completely blacked out after this.

A bright, yellow light woke me. I slowly opened my eyes to sunlight through the window. I flinched and moved my fingers, realizing I was at last able to move. I slowly stretched my arms and managed to roll to my side, my back was killing me; my backside still aching. Reg was sitting in a plush maroon chair in front in his nightshirt as well as the trousers he wore the previous night, those ringlets tumbling down his shoulders.

"Good you're awake," he said, sitting up in his chair. "I was getting worried."

I wanted to smack him but I didn't. Best to feign ignorance and hear his story.

"I feel like the bottom of a latrine," I said. "What the hell did I get into?"

He leaned forward.

"Some very, very bad things," he said.

I pretended like I didn't know what he was talking about.

"I don't even want to know myself," he said, faking a sigh. "We both lost it last night, chap."

He had this look on his face that said I knew bloody well what he was talking about. I looked at him like I just remembered.

"If anyone else found out, we could both hang for it," he said. "A moment of weakness, Grell, and only that; I've got you on this one. I just hope you will return the favor."

I simply nodded. Soon I was leaving his room barely able to walk, he was still sitting on that damn chair reading. I walked out, both of us saying something about meeting for lunch later. I closed his door and stumbled to my room, thinking of when I would even my score.


	5. Part 5

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 5**

Heavy thought is nigh impossible whilst playing the violin. All concentration is on positioning fingers on the strings, running the bow at the right angle, hitting the strings in the best position to make them sing. It is a unified effort that is guided by a series of lines and dots together on a page, each corresponding to the action on the instrument. The mind is truly focused, only room the occasional floating idea. True distraction means ugly sounds, ugly sounds only remind you further of straying from your path. A frenzied mind can be calmed or expressed with the right piece.

The hum of a small orchestra playing in perfect unison gave me further calm combined with the rhythmic movements of Mr. Anderson's baton, his other hand invoking a dramatic crescendo and gradual decrescendo a few measures later. I found a footing that reduced the amount of pain I was still in though the ache waned in the hour since I had left Reginald Kirkney's room.

By now I was rather accustomed to the practice of dressing and grooming hastily in the morning after a night of drink, leaving for class or practice or rehearsal looking impeccable in appearance though my insides were a mess. That day was no exception; the routine had to be maintained. I felt fortunate that Friday morning was rehearsal, it was easier to keep from thinking on what happened the night before.

When the thoughts did start flowing through they did so on the wave of pleasant music; it was much nicer to imagine Reginald floating in a river of his own blood to the accompaniment of Haydn. The fountain from his throat would flow with the rhythm, his flailing limbs like a downbeat, every bright note embodied his blanching complexion. My bowstring of wire cutting deeper and deeper gashes into the right parts of his flesh to produce the dainty notes. Oh how lovely he looked in crimson.

When the clock struck 10 I was in a better mood, my gait a little less heavy putting the instrument in its case than removing it. I still wasn't skipping to French class, though I wasn't dragging myself. Sitting through it reminded me of the violence from the night before, no amount of cushioning in the world would have diminished the ache. I still read and recited lines with an accent Monsieur DuPuis called perfection. My mouth read Moliere, though my mind recited all the vocabulary to describe bloodlust, what verbs to use when explaining how to flay someone.

The strike of 12 made me sweat a little, lunchtime; time to enjoy a delicious meal with all my friends and trying not to gouge Reg Kirkney's eyes out with a sugar spoon. I held myself straight when walking to the dining hall; sod him, sod all of them, I was above this. A little lying to oneself sometimes encourages the mood.

Those gorgeous ringlets across his shoulder was the first thing I saw whilst entering the dining hall, those gray eyes meeting mine. The anticipation part was over and I still remained a peaceful gentleman. A few other eyes turned to me; it was in that moment that I wondered how many of the others were blessed in the same way. Maybe he granted an intimate audience with all those worthy, maybe it was a rite of passage in this tribe, perhaps I was the chosen one.

"God bless you, you're still alive," Geoff Hollindale said, practically jumping up and eyeing me in awe.

"What the bloody hell did you get into last night, ginger," Victor Shelley chimed in. "You looked ready to drop at any minute. We were ready to carry you to the house."

I somewhat remembered both of them walking back with me at some point during the journey home, the voices sounded familiar now.

"A cautionary tale is what I got into," I said taking my seat and trying not to look at Reg. "I'm going to be bloody feeling this for a while."

The pain sitting down marked the point, my eyes shooting to Reg's.

"Oh he's a tough bastard, he was snoring the moment his head hit the pillow," Reg said.

"You were a kind soul to stick around," I said, resisting the urge to glare. Spilling his blood could wait for a more private moment; it was best to maintain airs at the present.

"Friends do that, chap," Reg said with a smirk.

The subject was changed soon after and the usual conversations passed. Being severely hung over meant I could get a pass in normal interaction and try to stomach my lamb stew in peace. I could still feel eyes on me and occasionally looked up to see passing glances I registered as more than just interaction or friendly concern for my health. I felt like I was being sized up; the new bride in the harem. The old brides were wondering why I am so much better than they, or they were reminding themselves why they are far superior to the little whore who just joined them.

I was surprised how I was still able to look at Reg and remain calm; his every word didn't strike like a dagger, though I suppose his dagger had been driven far enough in my back. No, hurling my dinner knife at him would solve nothing; in fact I figured I would be playing into his hand. I so much as raised my voice at him he would call it a threat and he knew I wouldn't do that, or expected I wouldn't. I was to remain the quiet sheep, herded by blackmail and good old humiliation. Well naturally that wouldn't do either, I could sit still for the present but I wasn't going to be doing so for long.

It was the usual passing greetings between me and him at the end of lunch. I did feel a bit lighter for the rest of the day; no happier, but satisfied having some smattering of a perspective. It gave me a course to set.

That given, it frightened me to dream of him again. The act replayed itself a bit differently, perhaps it scared me more that the dream took a pleasant tone and I woke in the usual mess. I chastised myself at first; what is wrong with you that you are looking upon such a horrific act as pleasant? Perhaps my mind was so shaken it was trying to work itself out. The next night I wasn't as angry with myself for the dreams. By the third night I would wake helping myself along with the image of Reg slamming me against the wall.

I stopped trying to reason it out by this point. It was becoming less painful to think on it, though rationalizing would have been a wasted effort. A few more days passed and I found myself willingly thinking on it as if a pleasant daydream, my trousers a little tighter with the thought. Day after day I would still sit at meals with Reg, pass him in the hallway, go to the pub with him (though keeping my drink to myself), and still admire those soft features and pretty eyes.

No, this wasn't supposed to happen but perhaps it was best to let things play out. A couple days later, like the shining light of inspiration, I knew I had my course. It would be highly dangerous and the repercussions could be severe. I found it more revealing that none of them bothered me. Ostracism, expulsion, bastardization, imprisonment, execution; all terms that should have put fear into my heart and stayed my hand yet none of them had that effect. No, they piqued my curiosity; they were a diagram of absolute bottom yet I wondered what the scenery there truly was like. I wouldn't call it the feeling that I had nothing to lose, perhaps there were some things I wouldn't mind being rid of.

It was about a week before the winter holiday when I stood in front of Reg's door. I could hear him laughing about something with a visitor, the second voice through the door was clearly Thad's. My firm knock squeezed out a couple lingering chuckles before talk naturally turned to there being someone at the door. Reg called out beckoning his new guest to enter.

I opened the door to see Reg and Thad sitting in plush chairs, books and papers in their laps; the crystal decanter of sherry and accompanying glasses getting more use than the quills sitting in the wells beside it.

"Evening, ginger," Thad said.

"Come in man, join our little study group," Reg said, toasting his glass. "Tonight's topic is…what is tonight's topic, Harlowe?"

"I think we were discussing that very point," Thad said, another sip.

Both of them were tipsy, this was going to make my job a little easier.

"Pardon the intrusion, gentlemen, but I require a private word with Lord Kirkney," I said, my tone polite but tense.

This received a few stupid giggles.

"Serious business?" Thad said with a goofy smile.

"My apologies, Mr. Sutcliff, we're a little busy," Reg said, looking a little annoyed even whilst tiddly. "Come back in an hour and you will have all the occasion you need."

"With all due respect, I'll have my occasion now," I said.

Reg smirked a little at this one, Thad giggled like a simpleton; he was probably further into the bottle than Reg.

"Beg pardon, Lord Harlowe, but please kindly fuck off," I said, thumb pointed at the door to illustrate my point.

Thad nearly dropped his glass he was laughing so hard.

"Harlowe give us a moment," Reg huffed, crossing his legs and looking down at his boots; a polite glare turning on Thad.

Thad returned his look and chuckled a bit more, putting his glass on the table and rising. He looked at me and then Reg, that goofy smirk telling he knew something rather juicy was going on. He walked to the door, I waked further into the room to give him space to leave; giggling all the way until he was out the door. Why did I have the feeling he knew or could make an educated guess as to what was going on? Why did I suspect I interrupted a potentially intimate moment, and perhaps he was used to such interruptions. Regardless I closed the door with a loud thud and looked directly at Reg.

"Something troubling you," Reg said.

"That's an understatement," I said, taking a few steps forward.

"Why do I have the feeling I know what this is about," Reg said.

"I should hope you do. I've kept my mouth shut like a good little boy and pretended nothing happened. That's become a little more difficult as of late."

"Well then speak your mind. Be honest with me, I will not judge," he said, putting his papers on the table.

That little hint of a smirk made me want to run toward him, but I slowed my feet to a few paces in front of him. He looked a little surprised when the back of my hand met his face, but he took it like a gentleman. Those gorgeous gray eyes fell square on me, that stupid smirk fading.

"I take it you're not pleased," he said with a sigh.

"What do you think," I said, leaning into his face.

His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed.

"I understand you are a bit cross with me, but what happened happened," he said, voice a little darker. "Call it indiscretion, call it a grievous error…"

"How about a knife in the back, I prefer that term a bit better," I said. "The only error here is me turning my back on you and you ramming it."

He was wearing a frown now.

"Be careful where you go with this, Sutcliff," Reg said. "Keep your speech even, if not you may say something you might regret."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely friendly advice, and I do hold you in high regard."

"Really, so what is my rank with the other harlots in the harem?"

"That is a rather serious accusation."

"Merely an observation."

He poured himself another glass of sherry, I swore I saw a little shake in his hand.

"I'd keep such observations to yourself lest they run wild," he said, taking a sip. "We are gentlemen, the sons of distinguished families. Do you know how mush damage one word can do?"

I had to chuckle a little at this one.

"Now that's most certainly a threat," I said, taking another step forward and patting his head. "But don't you worry your pretty little head about that, I certainly wouldn't want any messiness to leak out in such a troubling way. Oh no, I have better plans for this conundrum."

The back of my hand met his face again with a little more gusto. His upper lip curled, I knew exactly what was going through his head. Such a gesture from me likely meant I wished to end our quarrel 10 paces away with pistols in each hand. I had every right to call it; regardless of the particulars I was the aggrieved party.

"You're challenging me?" he said.

I leaned a little closer into his face.

"I'm challenging you," I said with a little smile.

The glare he gave me was delectable. His eyes were locked in mine, I was sure he didn't notice my hand going onto my coat pocket.

"Are you really prepared to risk your life over such a tedious matter?" he said with a little huff.

"Forgive me if I don't consider this such a tedious matter."

"You're an idiot; no, scratch that, you're a loon," he said. "If you want death so badly, then name your terms."

He was caught nicely off guard when a hard object smashed against the side of his face. His head swung to the side with the initial impact. I gave him a second to look back at me as I gave him another little tap over the head, then another, then a few more in succession. That thick, supple bottom lip burst with blood, a little scratch formed across his hairline that oozed lovely crimson. More scratches appeared on his face, his hands wandered out a bit but the surprise plus his existing state of inebriation kept him from immediate response.

It looked like he did take a moment to look at my weapon, his eyes widening a bit more upon the sight. It was nothing really ominous or complicated. I didn't count how many assorted pennies, shillings, and crowns were in the white stocking. I did add a few pounds and guineas for good measure, farthings would have been too small. It did require a bit of arm strength to keep it moving, though I was more than capable of maintaining this pace.

He did start to rise from his chair, face bathed in beautiful red. This worked to my advantage as a well-angled kick to the side sent him spilling to the floor. I gave the stocking a rest, my shoes took up the cause across every part of his body.

"You're bloody crazy!" Reg managed to gasp out.

"You just now noticed?" I said.

My heel smashed against his forearm, he opened his mouth to scream but the coin-filled stocking in his mouth muffled any cries. I stomped down a few more times as I tied the loose end around his head. I fell to my knees, my arms pinning him to the floor. He flailed wildly, staying on top of him was an immense task but I knew how to stay mounted on such bucking stallions. It was becoming a bit harder to concentrate the more he squirmed, I just reassured myself the true finale of this show would happen soon enough. My elbows smashed into his forearms, his concentration as now more on keeping from gagging.

I ripped his shirt open, exposing those beautifully chiseled muscles. I ran my hands over them, feeling his smooth skin. He bucked a bit more but I held him in place, my lips running over his neck and kissing up the side of his face.

"If you wanted me so bad, darling, you could have asked nicely," I whispered in his ear, gently biting his earlobe. My hands made it to his trouser button. "Instead you had to be selfish. What was it, Reggie; marking your territory? Keeping the bitches in the kennel? Oh that certainly won't do."

My hand moved to my own trousers, I was desperate to be liberated from them. I was a bit distracted; a knee to the middle of my back reminded me. I was thrown off balance for just a moment, long enough for his arms to spring free and smash a fist into the side of my face. I braced the blow, but the small tip was enough for my body to tumble to the floor. A force slammed against my head, making me dizzy yet I registered the feeling of fine knitted wool dampened with saliva. Alas, my own weapon used against me.

Reginald's face was now in mine, hands pinning my arms down. I should have struggled, but I didn't. I was well aware he could easily kill me right now, but it was a floating thought. I was more curious to see where this was going to go.

"Bravo! Good attempt, old chap; sorry it didn't work in the follow-through," he said, his knees pressing hard on mine and making them ache.

I could only smile at him. I wanted to say something witty, but his lips pressed against mine; tongue prying into my mouth. I wanted to do the same but I did not doubt he would have bit it off. My trousers were oh so tight now, at last I was freed from them in one hard pull.

"Just remember, you wanted this," he hissed. "I am only happy to oblige and believe me this will be most unpleasant."

I was grinning like a fool. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head to the floor.

"You are my whore now," he said.

"I am your lady," I replied, batting his hand. "Act like it."

He took a bit of time to unbutton his trousers. I managed to move my head a little and kiss his hand. My smile was wiped off by that first burning ache, my mind immediately going to that moment two weeks ago. I could, however, wriggle a bit which made this infinitely better. I was pressed down against the floor by his bodyweight, I couldn't move for a moment and I flailed a bit more. He took a different angle and I was allowed a bit more room. It was then when I really started to relax, enjoy every sensation. His hands moved to my shoulders, freeing my arms so I could run my hands up his arms, my fingers tangling into those soft, curly locks.

I expected him to push me down even further, instead he seemed to allow all my touches; leaning his face into my kisses over his jaw. My tongue lapped the salty red pouring from the cuts on his face. He was so rough, so harsh on me. I melted under his touch; I felt I was truly making love. My body shivered, I tried not to cry out and kept to only a grunt in his shoulder as the release took me. I lay there limp as he continued, but I soon heard a grunt and felt the heat.

He collapsed on top of me, breath in heaves. I kissed the side of his face and caressed his shoulder. Reg weakly smacked my hand away but he didn't move from his position. I only smiled, savoring this moment that would probably end with a bit more bloodshed; not like that was a horrible ending.

Reg's elbows came to the floor and he pushed himself up, though he only managed to roll to his side. I slowly propped myself up on my elbows, my legs felt too weak to support me but I would have to find some strength in them soon. Reg reached over and grabbed my trousers, throwing them at me.

"Get the fuck out of here," he said, voice a bit groggy.

I giggled a little, finding the strength in my legs to get up and slide them on. I felt truly giddy. Reg flopped back on the floor looking ready to pass out at any moment. I straightened out my clothing and blew him a kiss, picking up my stocking full of coins and putting it back in my pocket.

"I saw we call this a draw," I said as I walked out the door, batting away a thrown shoe in return.

I probably slept better that night than I had in days. My face was a bit achy the next day, the bruises were so colorful; shades of blue, black, purple, with a little hint of red. I applied a little powder over it, the bruises were a little less obvious though not entirely gone. I did get a couple double-takes in class and a little headshake from the instructor, though everyone minded their own ruddy business.

I briefly considered not joining the lads at noontime as usual, a passing thought. I was rather curious to see if Reginald would show his own pretty, colorful bruises. I did quite a job on him, perhaps he would be bedridden for days. As expected, I was the center of attention the moment I approached our usual table. Thad Harlowe was sitting there sipping his cider with a goofy grin. My markings must have told some tale and Harlowe likely made up the rest. There was a reason why I planned this with one other party present; no one's going to think anything of a row between two lads. Thad was there for the beginning part of it too, giving me a good cover story already though he probably figured what happened. There was always the chance Reg could have paid a visit later to discuss ways of destroying me, though I had this odd suspicion such was not the case.

My plan did work; there were a few mumbles about "getting into it good" and who kicked who's arse. It was a disagreement, I said, we resolved our differences like gentlemen. I left it at that and everyone else left it alone with a few snickers; how many of the others figured there was more to the story? Lo and behold, Lord Kirney himself graced us with his presence about half an hour after I took my seat. His face was so red and puffy; one eye swollen shut, scratches across his cheeks, a few more bruises. He took his seat giving me a good-natured slap on the shoulder, I could see all the amazed stares in my peripheral vision and hear the gasps and snickers.

"We've got a bloody little scrapper here," he said chuckling.

We allowed the gasps, the "bloody hell what happened." A little disagreement, we said. We were both a little drunk, had a little row. Harlowe, of course, talked about me going into Reg's room like a charging bull. Reg wore his battle scars proudly, it was laughs all around. I was pleasantly surprised he actually made eye contact with me, though he was so good at putting on an act. We all parted ways as usual around 1, Reg and I went into separate directions with barely a glance at each other.

Later in the day, I felt a hard yank on my arm. I barely had a moment to look up when I was dragged into an empty corner of a hallway. I wasn't exactly surprised to see those spiraling curls and those colorful bruises. Reg pulled me into a corner by potted tree and a painting of a group of scholars in a library. No one was around and I was sure he was keeping his word brief.

"Did you sleep well, Molly," he said.

"Blissfully," I said.

"You know we could have avoided the dramatics if you just told me you wanted another round," he said. "I would certainly have obliged. I gave you ample opportunity to ask for it."

"I rather preferred the second night's drama to the first, thank you," I said. "But to each his tastes."

He shoved me a little harder against the wall.

"Do you realize the dangerous territory you're in, Sutcliff," Reg said. "You've got some stones, I'll give you credit for that, but you crossed a bloody line."

"You said something about having some stones…"

"Oh no, we're talking about you here," he said, taking a firmer hold on my coat collar. "We're talking about your clear lack of respect for your peers, not to mention your reputation and your family's reputation…"

I had a little giggle at this.

"Oh you are a laugh," I said, though my blood was boiling a bit. "Care for some honesty, Reginald, well here it is. Fuck my family, fuck any so-called reputation, and while we're at it, fuck your house in the meantime," my giggles melded to a hiss. "You think I give a damn about any of that?"

"How about sodomy charges, how about imprisonment, how about public hanging," he said in my ear. "What would you say to your family when the noose is over your neck."

I broke from his grip and planted a knee between his legs. He froze for a moment and let go of my collar. I shoved him against the wall, my hand in my pocket and my quill knife lightly poking into a knuckle as I leaned into his face. He simply stood there.

"I'll toast them all from the gallows by name and lament not being around to see them shrivel," I hissed, making sure he felt every breath. I pressed the knife in a bit more, feeling a small drop blood under my finger. I leaned into his ear so only he could hear me. "I could cut your belly open and bang the hole, laughing my arse off as they dragged me away. You want to scare me, Kirkney, you need to do a better job of it."

He glared at me for a moment; he looked so handsome giving me the evil eye.

"You really are a nutter," he said, mouth curving into a little smirk.

"Oh you have no idea," I said.

He gently pushed me. I could have backed him more into the wall, but I figured my point was made most literally. I stepped back, pulling the knife away and casually folding it.

"Alas, I have class soon," he said. "Thank you for such splendid conversation."

"The pleasure is all mine," I said, backing away.

He pushed himself off the wall and slowly stepped forward. I raised my finger to show the blood I drew from his hand then lapped it off in a particularly illustrative fashion as I walked away, keeping him in my peripheral vision until he was out of sight.

Two days passed uneventfully. Reg and I floated in the same circles in a most cordial manner, though kept apart outside of the usual gatherings. The lads made plans to go to Aldeburgh Friday, I was somewhat tempted to stay in; say I had to study for exams. My conscience wouldn't allow that, I wasn't bloody hiding. Unsurprisingly Reg went too.

It was the usual bollocks; I still got nicely soused and sang along with the rest of the loonies. Reg slid up next to me at the bar, a few sheets to the wind himself and more casting up. He ordered a glass of brandy "for my man here."

"That's what a gentleman does for a lady, isn't it?" he said in my ear, breath smelling like the bottom of a barrel.

I took that as a compliment.

"I'm not a cheap woman, I assure you," I said, finishing off another glass of rum.

"That I know," he said. "What value do kind words have?"

He inched a little closer to me, leaning into my face. I couldn't help but smile.

"Why Lord Kirkney, are you trying to woo me?"

"Worth a try at least."

"Well try a little harder," I said with a little grin.

He chuckled goofily and sipped his own drink.

"I am a queen, not a strumpet," I whispered back. "Just remember that."

His eyebrows raised slightly.

"If I do?"

I slowly took a sip from the snifter before me and eyed him.

I walked to my room alone at the end of the night. There was a knock at my door around 10, I opened it a crack to see the darling little bastard standing there with a red rose in his hand. I should have pushed him from the room or slit his throat, instead I took the flower, slammed the door, and grabbed the sides of his swollen face. I pressed a kiss on his lips and he joined along, stumbling further into the room.

Eventually clothes were shorn and my back was on the bed. Even in my state, I knew it was so much different this time. The rough caresses felt so much nicer, the press of flesh bared willingly. Both of us exposed to one another, exchanging touches; fingers through hair, palms across bodies. I would hardly call it turning a new leaf, a nicer development was the best way to put it.

When it was over, he kissed me before getting up and clumsily dressing. I remained prone on the bed and gave him a little wave as he left the room. I drifted to sleep soon after, my dreams were absolutely blissful.

A hard knock on the door woke me. Light was pouring through my window and practically assaulting my brain. The clock on the wall read 11 in the morning, had I really slept that well? The knock sounded again, despite my aching head and sour stomach I was a little nervous. I called out that I would be there soon, sliding on my trousers and a shirt. I should have asked who it was, but I didn't. Whether it was Reg or the local constable, I would have rather been surprised.

I opened the door a crack, seeing the house prefect, a mousy lad named Marcus Randolf, standing next to an older man in a gray jacket with a large bag. He was hardly a constable, likely a carrier of some kind.

"Pardon the intrusion, Mr. Sutcliff, but the headmaster instructed me to escort him to you straight away," Marcus said.

The man pulled an envelope out of his bag and handed it to me.

"An urgent message from Baron Sutcliff, my lord," the carrier said. "He sent me out before sunrise."

I took the envelope, my groggy mind slowly processing all that was going on and not able to make any sense of it. I ducked back in my room and fetched a few crowns from my purse and handed them to the carrier.

"Thank you for your pains, sir," I said, "now if you'll excuse me."

Marcus nodded as I closed my door. I sat in a chair and looked at the cream-colored parchment, red wax imprinted with our family crest. I broke the seal and opened the letter as I slowly woke a bit more.

_To The Hon. Grell N. Sutcliff,_

_It is with great lamentation that I deliver the news that your mother, Annelise, the Dowager Baroness Sutcliff, passed away on the 13th of December, 1775. She died peacefully in her bed during sleep. A carriage will be sent for you at the end of the school term in six days time, funeral arrangements are in the planning but the service will be soon after you arrive. _

_Sincerely,_

_Matthew, 7th__ Baron Sutcliff_

I had to read it a few times to fully understand.


	6. Part 6

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 6**

_To the Rt. Hon. Matthew, Baron Sutcliff,_

_It is with great sorrow that I received the news of my mother's passing. May she have a peaceful rest in the House of the Lord. My thoughts are with my family in this time of mourning and I await my return so we can all join together and honor her memory. Please share my condolences with our house and I await your word at the end of term._

_Sincerely,_

_Grell N. Sutcliff_

I sealed the letter and let the wax dry before opening my door again and handing it to the carrier with an extra crown.

"Send this straight away to the Baron, kind sir," I said.

He tipped his hat and left. I politely dismissed Marcus and returned to my room, shutting the door. I washed off the residue of last night's escapades and changed; I thought about wearing black but that would not do at all. I chose a nice blue coat, but with a more demure shirt. I did not feel like wearing anything too ruffly today; nothing too extravagant or, as the Germans would say, nothing too _grell._

I walked down the hall looking as poised as I could despite my aching head and surging stomach, focusing on the pretty paintings of trees and castles and passing by the other children like watching flies floating along.

I passed one of the lads in the hallway and he managed to talk me into an impromptu game of cricket on the back lawn; the dead grass was a little wet but clear, the sun was shining, good for some sport. It was a mixed crowd and all in our regular clothes. Look at the silly boys in nice suits getting their fine shoes muddy, beating the hell out of a ball and running around. Listen to all the good-natured claps and yells. I suppose this qualified as fun, it was good for killing a couple hours. Good to get out into the damp chill, get your stockings wet, drink in the bottled glee; good to numb the ache of icy claws slowly scratching at my flesh.

We all parted with good-natured laughs, assembling in the dining hall for some hot mulled wine and roasted beef. I had about three glasses, took the edge off a bit perhaps lightened my mood. I could laugh at everyone I passed a bit easier. Tripping little Tommy Beckwith with my toe and watching him practically fly across the hall before regaining his footing did the job even more. Shoving little Armand Phantom-rat into the wall was even better, that little grunt he made hitting the corner was pure music.

I took up my violin for a little while when I went back into my room; something a little bit more robust. Something that would have been inappropriate for playing to an older lady in her death bed. Something truly screeching and offensive, though I put my bow down after a few minutes; wiping out the mental image of that smile and that dainty hand waving along. I tried to read in quiet but the icy claws only dug a little deeper in peace.

I believe it was teatime after that. I had a bit more wine with my biscuits than tea, the icy claws moving away at last. Then to the library; it's a shame some brats' nice quills had to get broken, they shouldn't have looked at me like that…or at all for that matter. Bennie Price decided to call me a wanker under his breath I passed him, I only splashed his face in ink. I thought about adding another substance to make that a pretty purple when he glared at me, but I stayed my hand.

I went for a little walk outside before dinner, God finally showed me a little sport with a little sparrow landing on the ground beside me. My foot was a bit quicker than its little wings. It was still flailing a little until a sharp branch finally ended its misery. I think I saw its beak moving a little, but I didn't feel like stopping and watching it.

All the lads got together in the hall around 5. I was actually pleased to see Reg, but then we parted on much better terms the night before. He did give me a little smile over his glass which I returned. The roast chicken was succulent and perfectly washed down with three pints; pity I could stomach the lager more than the chicken. Someone did make a comment of "starting a little early," but I resisted the urge to shove a bone in his eye socket. After a couple hours of idle banter I did have some productive study time with Victor and Reg discussing the finer points of Descartes and gossiping about what really caused Nigel Sherbrooke's butler to keel over on the banquet table by the Duke of Buckingham's dinner plate. A bleed in the brain can be caused by various diseases and forms of recent blunt trauma. I was in a bit of a better mood for this, allowing myself a couple sips of Reg's fine Spanish sherry and pleased to not feel drowsy afterward.

We broke our study session for a walk to Aldeburgh, oh how I wanted to get the hell off of the grounds. I felt like I was suffocating in my own filth all day long, having some fresh air to inhale was a magnificent moment though I had a feeling the moment was fleeting. The second we entered the pub a tiny voice in my head warned me to take it easy. I had been drinking more than usual all day, letting loose now could result in me getting really sick and probably waking up getting rammed into by less desirable fellows than Lord Kirkney. Like the sparrow in the yard, the voice of warning was a broken smear beneath my feet, or rather beneath the bottle of rum set up before me.

That first sip turned into a gulp that turned into greedily chugging it down, ignoring the searing burn in the back of my throat and the twist of my stomach. I recalled the first two glasses of rum and the first glass of gin and stopped counting. There just wasn't enough of it. The more numb I got the more numb I wanted to be, just shut out the whole world. My plan proved somewhat successful, I felt like just a floating speck of dust in the room not caring who I ran up against or who I landed on. I occasionally recall being batted aside the same way.

Somehow I do remember sitting at a table contemplating my hands, how pale they looked; how garishly white. They needed a bit of color; I saw a dinner knife on the table and thought I had a paintbrush. With deft care, I drew a little mark across the long line in my palm and it burst with a beautiful red. I traced downward, following the line on my wrist. I do not recall any pain, I just remembered the flow of rich crimson growing heavier and heavier to where it coated my hand and ran thick down my arm.

I sat enamored, slowly waving my arm over the table and sprinkling the red joy over the dowdy wood and into my glass. The thick drops splashed and floated in the clear liquid. I let more flow in until my gin was bright red and then sipped. The salt offset the sting of the alcohol and made it a little sweeter. I drank it down greedily, savoring the warmth rushing from my hand.

I just remembered squeezing my fingers into my palm and watching as it flowed harder. It was so beautiful, I lapped it up like salty nectar; my lips planting on my red hand and drinking it down. So thick, so rich; the taste of danger that thrilled me with each sip. The last thing I remember is another hand clutching my wrist and pulling it back. I thought for a moment to yank my arm away but I remained limp. The shouts drifting on the wind annoyed me a little, though faded slowly. What they were saying I could not make out, but the noise just drifted into the distance like smoke.

I recall nothing after that, occasional flashes in my brain that I still don't know if they were real or not; strange faces leaning in mine, shivering violently and being grabbed, small glimpses of mundane things like a fireplace and a grubby window, a large cross painted on a wall amid the flashes of black.

I remember feeling myself surrounded by warm wool, the heat and smoke of a fire just meters away. I realized I was registering all of this and it was more real. It took a bit of prodding, but I finally pried my lids open, immediately looking up to rough hewn ceiling beams. I was lying down, a pillow dulling the stabbing pains in my head. Everything was swimming, though I was quickly regaining some bearings. Every part of my just felt dry, like I had been squeezed through a fruit press.

Suddenly a black-skinned face came into my vision; a boy likely no more than 10 carefully looking down at me. I jumped a little at the sudden surprise, but the slight movement was like a spike slamming into my skull.

"Are you awake, my lord?" he asked, speech thickly accented in a manner I could not decipher.

My mind paused before answering the question; who the hell was this and why the hell was he here? I realized rather quickly that I was not in my own bed. I nodded, but craned my neck against the pulsing pain.

"Yes," I said, not able to get my voice above a whisper and every forming word an act of hard labor. "I hear you, kid."

He turned his head and started shouting, "Sir, he's awake." My blood ran cold and I started waking up a bit more and I heard feet rushing over to me. Reg's face suddenly appeared in my vision followed by an older man in spectacles with white hair circling the side of his bald head. Somehow he looked familiar, a vision from last night perhaps?

"It's about bloody time," Reg said. It was rather amusing watching him get shoved out of the way by the older man.

"Say something to me, lad," the other man said leaning into my face.

The fog in my brain was lifting a bit more.

"Where…where the bloody hell am I," I said with a bit more ease.

He leaned in my face, raising my eyelids and looking in my eyes. It was rather obvious he was a doctor, or going through the motions of one.

"That's a start, though you need to watch your language," he said.

I was too weak to backhand him.

"How do you feel," he said.

"Like the bottom of a shit pit," I managed to whisper, feeling a little more back to reality complete with a small smirk.

Reg bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. The doctor just kept a straight face.

"You're carrying on a coherent conversation and that in itself is a miracle," the doctor said. "You should be in a rectangular box now, young friend, after the way you poisoned yourself last evening."

"Last evening?" I said. "When is it?"

"Late afternoon," Reg said, crossing his arms and sitting in the chair next to me.

I just now had a look at my surroundings, a large wooden cross mounted to the plain white wall, a plain fireplace in front of the room; all things I swore I dreamed. I was lying in a bed surrounded by white linens, a pitcher on the stand beside me. I suddenly thought to look down, seeing myself in a white nightgown. My left hand was tightly wrapped in a white bandage.

"Thirty-seven stitches to close that wound," the doctor said. "This is why you do not try to cut an apple while drunk."

Cut an apple? It had to have been the story Reg gave him, or what he assumed. Why would he assume otherwise, though the bastard could have been watching on and laughing as I sliced myself open.

"Do you even recall how much alcohol you consumed?" the doctor said, looking down his spectacles at me.

"Not immediately, sir," I said.

How much did I drink that night?

"Enough to put you into shaking fits one minute and looking like the dead a minute after, all night long," he said. "You are very lucky your friend brought you to me and kept you from choking on your own stomach contents. With the amount you drank and the amount of blood you lost, you should not be here now but you are. You are the first man I've seen survive this and not end up a drooling lump for the rest of his existence. This is God's gift to you, Mr. Sutcliff; I hope this will be a lesson."

My mind went blank. I nearly bloody died, didn't I. I barely recalled the night before, little snippets slowly returned but that one thought stuck out above all others; I could have died. I really didn't know what to make of that. On one level it scared the hell out of me, on another level I was a little disappointed. Was death really so banal, was it really just a matter of blacking out and not waking up? The Reaper was over me and I never looked upon him? Maybe because I wasn't indeed dying. I felt a little relieved at that thought. Perhaps this creaky old fool was telling a scary story but only that. No, I wasn't dying; I made myself truly ill and carved into my own flesh but my clock was still ticking loudly.

Reg gave me the story of how he and a few of the others found me alone at that table, covered in blood and losing consciousness. It was decided I was in a dire situation and Reg asked the tavern keeper for a doctor. Apparently Dr. Thomas Marks was rather known in town, a right fine human being. A knock went on his door and I was subsequently carried to my present location. Dr. Marks told me Reg stayed with me the entire time. After five hours of watching my eyes roll back, the doctor insisted he sleep but he was up again soon.

I was a bit surprised Reg stuck around. Perhaps deep under that arsehole exterior, Reginald Kirkney was a caring human being. Or maybe he was biding his moment until I keeled over and he could go to Baron Sutcliff bawling about how he stayed with his dying brother until the very end. Such a display would work on Matthew; if I met my reward he would make a grand show of mourning my passing to attract as many noble mourners and potential friends and business partners as he could. If the son of Marquis Kirkney gave his blood such attention, Matthew would soil himself. It was perhaps the only way my existence would have any benefit for him. As for me, I would be the dressed up hide on display before he could finally cover me in dirt and be done with me once and for all.

I only now recalled he had another cadaver on his hands to dress up prettily, the thought made my stomach turn a little. What would she think if I was lined up right next to her. No, she couldn't think. That was it, end of matter.

I was far from surprised that Reg left shortly after I woke, but seeing him walk back through the door a little over an hour later was another matter. He had a bag in his hand with a few clean clothes of mine; the housemaster let him in the room to collect some effects, or that was the story I was given. He probably picked the lock, but such was a trifle matter to me. He said he informed the housemaster I had taken ill and was under doctor's supervision, giving him a note the doctor scribbled out for him. No other questions were asked, that was the way things worked with Reg.

As much as the surroundings and this Scripture-quoting doctor were grating on me, I was still too weak to leave this bed. I had never felt more sick in all my life, a flu didn't even compare to the aches and heaving that took place now. The dark-skinned lad called "Jonathan" (though I suspected his real name was a bit too difficult for proper English tongues) was over regularly, bringing me clarified water and feeling my forehead. I found his bedside manner a bit refreshing compared to his master's.

Reg did stay to keep some company, provide some distraction for all the stories the doctor told of his time as a missionary in the West Indies. He liked to blather on about how he and his fellows "saved the savages from damnation" and "rescued their souls with their diseased bodies." Reg was always angled to me in the right way to roll his eyes or whisper "and bang the natives." Apparently Dr. Marks found Jonathan lying at the bottom of a wooden cage in a slave market four years ago. He purchased him and brought him to England, educating him and giving him a relatively comfortable life. He wanted to train him to be a doctor.

"Like I'd want a darky pawing all over me," Reg murmured when both were allegedly out of earshot. "Can you imagine how many diseases those things carry."

Oh Reg, ever the charming observer; poor little bastard had to grow up fed with a gold spoon and choked with white ruffles and velvet by all his servants. I could only look at Jonathan and imagine him a skeleton clad in a sack with insects crawling over him. Now a smart little suit housed his healthy frame and he sat down in the kitchen and ate stew and buttered bread while the doctor examined me.

I saw a lad who would grow up appreciating everything he had, perhaps saving others from similar fates. Or he would indeed turn into a privileged brat looking down his nose on everyone, perhaps such was the fate of every child in comfortable surroundings.

My surroundings at the present were beginning to wear on me. By nightfall the ache in my head calmed to a dull press and my stomach could handle some watery broth. I insisted on taking a few steps across the room despite the downcast glare I received when I should have been "stocking my fuel reserves." Everything still ached, but I was confident I could manage a walk back to campus. I humored the old bastard by having some chicken soup in bed, then getting up and saying flat out I was leaving.

"I believe bed rest in my care for another night would be the best course for your health, Mr. Sutcliff," Dr. Marks huffed.

I got on the clothes Reg fetched for me, a bit dizzy whilst doing so but everything else had worked itself out so far.

"You sure you'll be good walking back, ginger?" Reg said, though I could see that shit-eating smirk from the corner of my eye.

"I wouldn't know until I get my bloody shoes on," I said.

The doctor gave this disapproving sigh. Reg shrugged at him while handing me my shoes. The doctor managed a couple instructions on how to care for my hand; keep it dry, change the bandage twice a day, come back to him immediately if it gets red and oozes. I gave the doctor my heartfelt thanks and a few pounds for his trouble, handing Jonathan his own penny and giving him a pat on the head.

"God bless you gentlemen," I said with some sincerity whilst walking out the door.

It took some effort to get down the stairs, I was amused that Reg offered his hand though I made it clear I was fine on my own. The crisp night air felt good, walking out of Aldeburgh felt even better. The thought was in the back of my mind I should be enjoying the simple things a little more. Said thought was quickly pushed out. I was still bloody alive after all; death has no meaning unless it actually happens.

Reg and I walked the road to school mostly in silence. I did have to take the occasional break to retain my energy, but Reg would stand to the side and look off to the horizon as I took a few extra breaths. There was no small talk, no passing comments about the doctor and his brat, I was a bit surprised not to hear any ribbing for how I wrecked myself. This was the first time ever I experienced Reggie showing some decorum.

Halfway up the road, however, he finally opened his mouth.

"When I went into your room and collected your clothes, I saw an open letter on your chair," he said. My stomach turned. "I did take the liberty of reading it, insight perhaps as to what happened the previous night."

Kicking his stones in sounded tempting, but letting him speak held more appeal.

"Learn anything of interest?" I said.

He glanced at me and I locked eyes with him for a moment.

"My condolences," he said before looking back at the path.

"Appreciated."

"Were you close?"

I looked down at the path, swallowing to hold a sudden gag. I really didn't want to think on this now, but perhaps my present state of health was the result of trying to cover over those thoughts.

"Yes," was all I could manage.

He left it at that. For a moment the only sound between us was our crunching footsteps on the gravel and the occasional passing seagull.

"I was 3 when I lost mine," he said. "She died in childbirth, taking my brother with her. Not like I have any memories of her."

"The children were stowed in their own padded closet I assume."

"You could say as much."

I really wanted to leave it at that, though perhaps saying something more would have helped my state; even if Reggie used it against me later.

"Mine was a bit different," I said, the words just coming to me. "I was her little doll, she just loved dressing me up and playing with me, carrying me around like a little prize."

"What happened when you stopped being so little?"

"Into the closet I went…save for the last few months. She had been in poor health for a while; after Oskar was killed I'm sure she just gave up. I just stayed with her as long as I could, have my own peace if you will."

This was as kind a eulogy as I could muster. I was surprised I even managed this much,

"That's admirable."

We walked for a few more moments in silence.

"Is that why you tried to snuff yourself?" Reg asked at last.

"I didn't try to snuff myself, Reg," I said, the insinuation annoying me.

What the hell did I try to do? Perhaps I was trying to bury myself, but I don't recall if burying myself literally was part of the plan.

"'Toasting her memory' would be a bollocks answer," I continued. "Numbing the pain? Perhaps a bit more accurate. Perhaps I got a bit too enthusiastic, had a little accident," I raised my bandaged hand to emphasize the point. "Call it foolishness, call it stupidity, call it what you will, but not once did I give any serious thought to snuffing myself."

Reg stared hard at me, I had an odd feeling he wasn't convinced. He smirked a little and snickered.

"I really can't find any untruths in that statement," he said. "Besides, this was a rather mundane way for Grell Sutcliff to end himself. Being found hanging from the ceiling of the dining hall with a note pinned to your chest reading 'Dear World: Lick my arsehole' sounds a bit more like you."

I had a good laugh at that one despite how his somewhat tense tone grated on me.

"Reginald, should I choose to leave this life the manner by which I would do it would be incomprehensible," I said. "And It certainly wouldn't be the show last night."

"Thought as much," Reg said between stiff cackles.

The bastard still wasn't convinced, well sod him.

It was only a matter of minutes before we were back on campus. The housemaster must have gotten wind of my arrival and hunted me down straightaway for a status update. I gave him the same story Reg did, but noticed Reg vanished without a word. I was cleared with a few words of "You take care of yourself, Mr. Sutcliff."

I returned to my room, alone there for the first time since getting the letter. I was too exhausted to think on anything and fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow, occasionally being woken by a searing ache in my hand when I accidentally rolled on it. I awoke to daylight, realizing I was still in my clothes and seeing the clock reading noon. I decided to lie low this once; I had significantly recovered from the episode yet I still felt sluggish.

I stayed in bed most of the day, at one point actually doing a little more studying. Occasionally a couple knocks at the door interrupted me. Some of my mates would drop by to make sure I was still alive. "Reg told us what happened after you left, blimey you're a lucky bastard" was the general theme. I would show them the bandage and a couple words about how I was still sleeping it off. Somehow it reminded me of when I was a boy and fell from my horse, though this time I had no desire to show off my wounds. They would shuffle away almost as fast as they came. I wondered how much more Reg did tell them, but I heard no words referencing it.

My stomach had barely settled by dinnertime but I was ready to smash everything in my room if I stayed there any longer. I made myself presentable, save for the bandage of course, and hobbled to the dining hall for another grand entrance. It was all smiles, though the welcomes were a bit quiet. Reg spoke to me a little more, but most conversations seemed to be directed aside from me. I sipped a single glass of sweet wine with dinner, feeling stares every time I clutched the stem of my glass. I resisted the urge to tell them to bugger off, though a few sideways glares communicated that rather effectively judging by the sudden averted gazes.

There were the usual recitations of "Cheerio, ginger" and "Later, good man" when I rose from the table at the end of my meal, but few of them carried a glance in my direction. Apparently my presence made them rather uncomfortable. Maybe facing a worst case scenario from their own actions unnerved them, maybe my bloody hand and gaping mouth lived in their nightmares. I took that as a compliment in a way.

I would join them the next day at lunch, and then dinner. The reception warmed considerably with each passing hour, but the sideways glances remained. Mentally naming off all the reasons for their discomfort became a bit of sport for me for those last few days of term, studying a bit harder for my exams was the other. I welcomed anything that prevented me from thinking on that one lingering fact I would have to face at the end of term. If anything was to be gained from this hellish experience it was a renewed drive. After all I cheated death and now had a zest to properly reform myself, become the model student. The speech sounded good in my head amidst riotous laughter.

The lads were going to the pub those last few days but I only learned of this through a few passing words and winks. I wasn't that bothered by it, I really wasn't in the mood to return anyway. Reg said the tavern keeper at the place where I nearly snuffed myself was concerned for my health and pleased to hear I recovered. No concerns about staining his table or nearly choking to death on his liquor, none whatsoever was the story I heard.

Naturally everyone would be ecstatic when I walked unannounced through those doors again the last night before I would return home to face the family. The lads did a magnificent job keeping their excitement at seeing me under proper comportment and good-natured slaps on the back with a few uncomfortable gazes and nervous laughs. The keeper openly displayed his relief and gladness at seeing me well again by shoving my rum in front of me with a glare. He declared his happiness with, "You s'much as put a toe outta of line in my establishment I'll throw ya out on your arse, I don't care who your family is."

I did toast loudly to all my merry gentlemen, sucking up the rum like it was the sweetest nectar; the perpetual ache in my head slowly melting away. I would toast another glass to those who would nervously chuckle and look away, finally getting a few calls back on the third toast just like the good old days of last week. By the fourth glass it was just like old times. I got nicely soused, though my mood was considerably different from that fateful night so I wasn't as knackered by the time everyone started leaving.

Reg did get up in front of everyone and raised his glass.

"To the lovely Baroness Sutcliff," he said, putting a hand to his chest and knocking back his gin. His eyes fixed on me with a little smirk.

The rest of the lads whistled and cackled, some patting me on the back. I just looked at the little bastard and smiled, raising my glass and knocking it back.


	7. Part 7

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 7**

The carriage arrived as expected the day after my last exam. I made a point to avoid speaking to anyone that day; simply passing through the hallways with my effects. The driver opened the door and I climbed in, wanting this whole thing over with. I spent the journey trying to ready myself for being back in that blasted manor. My absolute hatred for the entire place and all the pampered rats crawling around inside was palpable. I could just taste my seething for them all, but I took a moment to remember why I was going to this charade.

I was retuning here for her and only her. I told myself repeatedly that this was going to be good for me; my itching hand reminded me of why. I went into this with more of an open mind, or rather a mind like a steel door that needed significant force to hold open. The attempt would be draining and exhausting. A part of me almost wished I'd brought a bottle of wine along for the journey, perhaps being face to face with these bastards would have been more tolerable in an induced state of happiness. As tempting as it was, I realized the driver would have noticed something and reported it to Matthew. Spying probably earned them a few crowns as a bonus if it wasn't in their job expectations to begin with.

At last the sloping fields and soaring roofs of the Sutcliff manor came into view, my skin crawled in marked response. The carriage pulled up to the house and I saw David waiting out front, likely ready to take my bags in. We passed a few words in greeting as he took my bags and escorted me up the path. I learned before even entering the house that most of the family was already there; it was nice to get the armor up before having to face them. We entered and asked what refreshment I cared for. Brandy I said, a little something to take the edge off sounded splendid; just get me some bread and cheese, I didn't have much of an appetite.

Matthew found me straightaway, he actually greeted me warmly and asked about the bandage with seemingly grave concern. I got a little too aggressive with an apple, sliced myself all the way down. I got a stern response of "that is the price of carelessness" and he advised me to have it looked after by the family doctor. I was happy to retreat to my room and the bottle of brandy David left for me. I took a few sips, enough to make my insides loosen slightly but I made sure to save the rest for an opportune time.

My presence was expected at tea and I was immediately bombarded the moment I walked into the room. Elijah embraced me, a rather unwelcome gesture. Jacob gave me some faux-polite words. Most of the children were there; now older, mostly students like I was, but I hardly considered them peers. There were a lot of questions about school, a lot of questions about lessons and sports and if I had my eye on any pretty ladies. I was proud of myself to have given so many charming and witty answers; fake answers, yet charming and witty nonetheless.

The funeral was in two days and Matthew humbly recited the roster of nobles who RSVP'd to his solemn announcement.

"It warms the heart to have so many people watching for this family in such a time of crisis," Matthew said.

I knew that the roster of titles as a captive audience warmed his heart more, but I drank my tea with a polite smile.

Conversation invariably turned to my injured hand. I cooked up this rather detailed story about this one large apple and my rather growling stomach and how I need to better heed my strength. I did add the part about the elderly doctor and his little dark-skinned helper awaiting the more colorful comments.

"Our brother has a splendid example of how neither a man's skin color nor his nationality have any hampering on his character," Matthew said rather grandly. "I have always told these ignorant fools how dark men are capable of being civilized and gotten laughed at."

"Fine idiots they are, Grell himself is witness to a black-skinned medical apprentice," Jacob chimed in.

"I've always said the slave trade is barbaric, a most un-Christian practice…" Matthew added but I stopped paying attention. I smelled a promotion idea I would have no part of. Oh the sweet familiarity of home.

There was barely any talk of mother, which I was mildly gladdened by. Most of it was on the funeral arrangements, a few brief anecdotes were passed but that was it. I kept my mouth shut through most of this and no one seemed to notice. Her coffin was put in the small chapel that morning, lying in repose if you will.

"Whether you choose to visit her or not, Grell, that is your own personal decision," Matthew said.

I would have to think on that one. I spent a quiet night sleeping on it, purposefully avoiding any drink other than a pint at dinner. The nightmares came one after the other between bouts of looking up at the ceiling and listening to the usual shifting of the house. Her screaming out in anguish, a dried corpse surrounded in red roses, the sound of her voice crying out my name. I finally declared myself awake at the first glow of daylight, my throat dry as a bone and head pounding.

I put on a smart outfit before walking to the chapel; somehow I felt like she would be able to see it. I had no thought to what I would see, I was only walking down there like any other time. The smell of flowers and candles immediately struck my nose walking in the room.

There she was lying in an oak coffin in one of her favorite blue ball gowns; grayish-blonde hair impeccably braided, the thick coating of powder was a little more than she usually wore but not entirely off-putting. The undertaker did a magnificent job preserving her beauty in death. An array of lilies and roses surrounded her against the white lining; a halo of flowers for such a lady.

"You look radiant, mum," I said, taking a few steps closer to the coffin. "You truly are the primadonna of this party, my lady."

I raised a hand to the coffin, only now realizing the difficulty I had bringing it up from its curled position against my leg. My hand shook so much coming up, but at last rested on the wood; my fingers venturing out to touch that still-soft hair. I looked down and saw it was the injured hand, for a moment I forgot about that but the sight of that bandage just bore a hole through me. I kept it in its position, a reminder perhaps that I still stood there. I was standing there now and looking at her a living man; I should have been in a coffin next to her.

The thought barely carried any weight, it merely floated along in the breeze. My whole being suddenly felt lighter, a moment of complete clarity settling over me. I looked back down at her, and at my bandaged hand; a chuckle escaped me. This was all so bloody absurd, all of it. The morose scenery, this lifeless dummy in the coffin dressed in her sentimental finery, I was merely the tragic prince and this was my cue for the wrenching soliloquy. There was no audience here waiting for my words, the fourth wall was just that; silent and empty, lifeless, looking more and more like the inside of my mind.

Did I just not give a damn? My senses returned to me with the twinge of momentary horror at my thought process. I looked back down at her and stared at her peaceful face, ever frozen in pure contentment when her last months were so hellish. A nice façade; she truly took that to an art form. My head pounded and my stomach settled, but all I felt was this odd calm. I continued to stare at her; blankly, examining those fair features and all the pretty flowers.

I didn't care a shred about any of this and it was one of the most exhilarating realizations I had ever had. She was dead, here lies the Dowager Baroness, and I couldn't be bloody moved. She was part of the scenery now; another pretty accoutrement. That's all she ever was and that's all I ever was to her. Completely pathetic. It helped to look on a departed loved one as a thing; a pretty porcelain doll in her finest dress accessorized with roses and lilies. She looked upon me the same way; little baby doll, nice for dressing in lovely little clothes, show him off to all your friends, watch as they turn to puddles before your feet.

Perhaps they would dress me the same way when I died. What outfit would they put me in, how would they do my hair. I was completely caught up in the thought. Would there be anything left to dress up should I die a most messy death? How much would a most skilled undertaker be able to put pretty again. Oh how I would love to attend my own funeral; it would be a fine show indeed…but why was I imagining Matthew making the arrangements and all my brothers making the requisite appearances? I was so much younger than them all; the thought certainly intrigued me. After all I did almost die, perhaps I could do it on a grander scale next time. Perhaps my thoughts were a bit too bleak, perhaps I would have the privilege of watching all of them knock off one by one and laugh from the pews each time.

I managed to pry my thoughts away and remind myself I was looking at my mother's body. Perhaps a change of scenery was in order, but not without a proper parting to the old bitch. I leaned in the coffin, smelling oil and wax mixed with the roses. I planted a light kiss on her cold lips and rose, turning around and walking from the chapel. I had my peace, there was nothing more I needed here.

I passed Elijah in the hallway shortly after, for some reason I did tell him I visited her.

"Did you have your peace, Grell," he asked with the tenderest of looks.

"I did, brother, indeed I did," I replied.

More well-wishers were piling into the manor by the evening, most traveling from London and some from further areas to pay their respects. Many were other nobles, many more were Matthew and Jacob's business associates. There was an especially grand dinner later that night, though for a while I felt I was more on display than the goose. I was an absolute musical virtuoso, but my riding skills were legendary, or so Matthew said after several glasses of wine.

"Grell is graduating grammar school in a year and a half," Matthew said. "Oh he will have a fine future. He will be a man of success, I can assure you."

I tried not to roll my eyes. It was too difficult to take anyone seriously at the moment, so I was barely bothered by this. Talk invariably moved to some other point of discussion I made a point to give no attention.

I found it interesting that the socializing and carousing went into the evening. Matthew and Jacob stayed in the drawing room with an assortment of associates; the spirits were flowing, the conversations were becoming less and less stodgy, occasionally a song or two broke out. Lady Sutcliff put the children to bed without a word, Elijah and his brood were in their rooms by dinner. I decided to stay about for the festivities, moreso for the better quality liquor. I would only have a couple glasses, I said to myself; I was drinking around my family and not my mates. The more the goofy laughs sounded from Matthew and the bawdier Jacob's jokes became, the more drinks I had, but still watched myself more than usual.

The more relaxed I got the more I seemed to blend into the conversation. Everything coming from my mouth was pure bollocks, but they actually seemed to recognize my presence here. Perhaps I spoke their dodgy language, or maybe I somehow looked like an adult. Even somewhat tipsy, I knew better than to take any one of these bastards at face value.

The thought did cross my mind briefly of why I never saw this kind of revelry before. Perhaps this was my first experience of this as a young man and not a child, so it wasn't kept from me. Oskar's services could have been a more somber affair than mother's, though perhaps mother's presence kept affairs a bit quieter. She was hardly the uptight type, mother enjoyed her share of parties though her style was more pristine. Managing a perpetually drunken husband too might have imposed some rules on his successor, or one might be reluctant to throw parties with his mother around. The thought did cross my mind that they were toasting to her demise, though I would rather not too many thoughts passed through. I couldn't say I was disappointed with this change.

By midnight Matthew went to bed. Jacob stayed up and caroused a little more, though we both agreed to retire at the same time. There was a funeral in the morning after all. By the morning hours I somewhat welcomed my heavy head, it gave me some form of distraction to go through the usual preparation.

The service was a bit of a grander affair than Oskar's, after all they actually had a box of bones to fawn over this time. Mother was moved from the dressing room out on stage; the roses and lilies around her replaced with a grand laurel of roses. The church was filled with people mother likely never met at all, Matthew got his money's worth in tears. I sat in my pew surrounded on all sides by my brothers and their families. The poor surviving children of such a wonderful woman. Everyone was strong and shed no tears, though I was sure strength had nothing to do with it.

And there was the lady herself lying out on display at the front of the church; my mother, my protector, my preener, my influence for more wrong than right. I wanted to think I was her favorite, but then that might have counted for even less. How much did she ever truly value her children? My only perspective was my own, perhaps all my surviving brothers couldn't wait to finally plant the bitch in the ground for their own reasons…not the least including me perhaps if they cared that much.

And there I sat merely an observer to this whole melodrama, or was it a comedy? I observed the tender look on Lady Sutcliff's face, the way Matthews sons sat up straight like they were planted there with stakes. Perhaps they were little wooden dolls only flesh and bone. Did they bleed sawdust? I thought of a few ways to test this theory. Elijah wasn't the ringleader for this service; another minister took on that role, but my brother was certainly standing in the front in his colorful costume with his crying mask on.

I leaned forward and pursed my praying hands to my lips, looking as if I was deep in contemplation when I was actually trying to hold my smile. I only needed to look at mother all nicely dressed up and on display before the first chuckles rose up in my throat. A grand bloody party to the end, there just needed to be livelier music than this sleepy organ tone, but then she knew how to work an occasion. I recalled how she sat in the pew at father's funeral bawling her eyes out. My hands fully covered the bottom half of my face and I allowed a few more laughs to sneak out into my palms. I felt my niece Sarah's little hand pat my shoulder and her little squeak of "It's all right, Uncle Grell." I was now chortling into my hands, my laughs sounding like rough sobs.

I managed to calm, prying my hands from my face and putting on a somber expression whilst wiping my eyes with my handkerchief. I nodded at her and thanked her, her innocent blue eyes staring at me in sympathy. My attention went right back to the performance just as Sarah's father took the stage.

"My calling to God has given one advantage: I can formally introduce my dearest mother to the Almighty," Elijah proclaimed.

His hands looked like he was conducting a crescendo. I buried my face once again and just let loose the laughs, making them sound like sobs. Sarah took my arm in hers. I briefly looked up to see Jacob give me a small glance and two of Matthew's boys downright glare at me; Robert just stared ahead and ignored me. I managed to calm myself a bit, my smile tuning to one of somber thanks toward Sarah as I stood straight in my seat and tried to join this masquerade.

They put the cover on her coffin at the close of the service, I was actually glad to no longer have to look at her. I bade my farewells; I had my proper peace as it was, I didn't need this being dragged out longer than it had to. She was planted right next to father. As much as it was tempting to think on the two fighting for eternity, it was their bodies that were interred together after all. Father was likely in his own section of Hell, I didn't bother guessing where mother was now.

"Annelise, Baroness Sutcliff, born Annelise Dresdner. Born: 25 of September, 1723, Died: 13 December, 1775. Aged 53 years. Wife and lady of Thomas, Baron Sutcliff, mother of Matthew, Baron Sutcliff, and mother of Jacob, Olivia, David, Elijah, Oskar, and Grell. Devoted wife, mother, and lady."

I recognized the names of my two siblings who died as infants: Olivia, the girl she truly wanted, and David, saved from his fate of being another throwaway by dying soon after birth. A wise move on his part perhaps. I tried not to laugh at that last sentence on her stone, it was just too pathetic and false.

I actually did hang about for the reception, played the role of the bright, handsome young man looking towards a prosperous future. A few glasses of wine helped me get better into character. I barely concentrated on the conversations after a while, I just seemed to know the right things to say. After a few hours the stodgy reception slowly transformed into a more relaxed affair. Matthew had a right feast served up and the whole gathering started to feel more like a party than a funeral and certainly not in a manner celebrating someone's life. I remembered the grand party he threw after father's death, now the final bag dropped.

The party continued after all dishes were cleared, slowly moving into the parlor and around some hired musicians and ample bottles of various spirits. David and some members of the staff came around with trays of small treats and made sure every glass remained filled. It was mostly conversation, but the occasional song and random game of Simile or Blind Man's Bluff popped up. This was not a riotous affair mind you, hardly as relaxed as a night at the pub with my mates. This was how stuffy nobles and wealthy businessmen had fun, though the music and the flowing wine were elements that kept me present.

Like the night before, the drunker everyone got and the earlier the more stuffy attendees went to bed (the master of the house included), the less polite the stragglers became and the bawdier the talk turned. There was a rather healthy population of younger women in the parlor: daughters, nieces, cousins and the like of Matthew and Jacob's associates. I was a little amused their respective male handlers said nothing of them being there or left them alone for whatever debauchery might ensue. A few of them were even still in the room thinking nothing of their women guzzling wine and attaching themselves to other men, though it wouldn't surprise me if Jacob hired a few of them to be there.

By midnight I looked over to see Jacob in his shirtsleeves, an arm each around two fillies who were twittering like sparrows over some joke he made. His wig was still on, but it would come off soon with the rest of his clothes probably. The thought was more than a little unappealing; I was not picturing my brother as much as I was picturing a dog mating for I imagined little difference between the two. Jacob redirected a few loitering ladies to my direction with a few words about how talented and athletic I was. They approached me with blushing cheeks and light touches on the shoulder, I naturally basked in the attention and put on the charm.

They were gorgeous women; ample bosoms, perfect milky skin, soft hair I ran my fingers through. One blonde beauty in particular latched right onto my arm and leaned on my shoulder. I think I had heard her referred to as Molly, or was that Mary. I lost interest when we kissed and my hands were over her curves. I had never touched a woman in such a way before; her curves, the softness of her body, the delicateness of her skin all fascinated me.

After a few minutes I desired to explore some of her other aspects and she was practically begging me to oblige. We slipped from the parlor and into a large linen closet in the hallway. Her discarded dress and the plush rug provided ample padding for my bare elbows and knees. I had no bloody clue as to what I was doing. I did think of how I enjoyed Reg's stamina and the way he touched me the last time we made love. I figured the more she was moaning and breathing heavily the more I was going in the right direction. I did get full view of those beautiful womanly assets; her body was nigh perfect. I so enjoyed running my hands over those soft curves, feeling that smooth skin. There was no thick hair, no bony edges, a completely unique experience.

We finished and I obliged her for some kissing before we both rose and hastily dressed. She kissed me again with a passing gasp of "You were wonderful, Lord Grell," before returning to the party in barely a bat of an eye. I didn't care to return to the party at that moment; I was quite relaxed and didn't feel like posturing. I went to a smaller drawing room down the hall, lighting a small lamp, and finding a bottle of port and a small, crystal glass. I reclined in a plush chair, sipping my drink, enveloped in darkness and quiet.

I wasn't really drunk, but the small amount of drink-induced elation I had was starting to wear off. It wasn't necessarily a dark mood as it was a quiet one; quiet I dreaded. I had already made my peace with why I was here, though for some reason I looked down at my bandaged hand. Our doctor wanted to remove the stitches tomorrow, saying it appeared mostly healed. It was that easy wasn't it? I finished off my glass with a more enthusiastic sip, then poured another one in the dim light.

The door suddenly opened, giving me a bit of a start. I could barely make out the figure coming in, but his voice revealed himself before the flickering flame did.

"She was that good, wasn't she?" Jacob said with a dirty chuckle.

He took a few more steps forward, his shirt untucked and hanging over his skinny frame, cravat missing, close-cropped red hair fully exposed in all its mussed glory. It was rather obvious where he just came from. He took his own glass from the side and walked toward me, alas my wish for him to walk the other way and get the hell out of here did not come true. I took a sip and watched him plant his arse into the chair across from me, sliding the bottle of port over to him and pouring himself a glass. I was tempted to ask how he knew I didn't poison it, but that might not end well.

"To mother," he said, raising his glass.

I raised my glass in response and knocked it back. He chuckled a little and took a polite sip of his, then stared at me with this bemused smile. I looked him right in the eyes with an unamused expression.

"I know, this may seem a bit awkward," Jacob said. "I believe this is the first time we've really spoken to each other face-to-face. Perhaps I have always just seen you as a small child; it never dawned on me that small child would grow up to be such an intelligent, talented man."

"Is it sinking in now?" I asked, I could only maintain polite airs for so long.

He chuckled again and nodded.

"I owe you a sincere apology Grell, all of us do," Jacob said.

I was a little taken aback by this, though there was a punchline in here somewhere.

"I am going to be brutally honest, brother, you have meant nothing to any of us," he said. At least he was willing to have out with it. "We've been men living our lives, doing our work, raising our families; or rather the other idiots have, I know better. All along we have had a brother we didn't recognize, seeing him for too long as a child that needed to be minded and not our own extended flesh and blood. And all the while mother has made you her little toy and I do not even care to think on what you went through with father. I do feel responsible for not taking heed there was a small child under his mad watch."

I reached over and snatched the bottle from his side of the coffee table, pouring myself another glass in silence; half an eye on the glass and the other half on Jacob.

"We all were looking out for ourselves," he said.

"You do not speak for Oskar, I can assure you," I said before taking a sip.

I savored that uncomfortable little smirk.

"And we have been remiss," Jacob said. "Now Oskar is gone, mother is gone, and I imagine you are feeling as if you have no one else. Your friends at school, maybe, but I know the schemes of boys in the gentry. You are probably aware of this too, you're a wily lad. You are surrounded by a bunch of scheming boys and even more scheming brothers who you figure do not care hide nor hair of you."

"That sums it up exactly," I said plainly.

"Well I cannot blame you and that is our fault," he said. "Matthew told me you acted out a little with mother's maid last summer. And as for your little injury, well I was your age once, I know sometimes young men can be too bold and be a little foolhardy in some matters."

I flexed my hand a little as an unconscious response. Oh if he only knew.

"Grell, you have never had a father-figure and your older brothers have completely been lacking in our duties," he said. "Matthew and I have spoken quite a bit and I will have a little chat with Elijah when I can. Grell, we are going to take a bit more of an interest in you and your future."

I rolled my eyes and took another sip.

"Oh rest assured, this does not mean increased adult scrutiny or any further discipline," he said. "You are more than capable of watching over your own affairs, though you might hear from us a little more often; simple things, a few letters, a few simple inquiries, but most of all we want to mentor you."

"With all due respect, brother, if this is a business pitch, have out with it," I said.

Jacob gave a dirty chuckle.

"I assume Matthew told you of the little talk we had over the summer," Jacob said. "Would I be interested in seeing your talents at work in our family's company? Most certainly, but Matthew and I know better than to try to force you into anything. You are too strong-willed; you're much like both mother and father in those respects, though we want you to use that strength for any constructive purpose. I am sure you are thinking of your future. Granted Matthew was the only one of us with a guaranteed inheritance, though he wanted to carve his own success over his title. I have helped him and made a generous profit for myself. Elijah was called to God and Oskar, God rest his soul, was called to King and Country. You will have your own calling, Grell. Should you need any guidance in any venture, your brothers will certainly be here for you."

I gazed at him hard, letting the silence linger.

"You certainly have a way with words," I said. "Though perhaps I can be swayed. Fine then, I will take you on your word. I sincerely appreciate this talk."

Jacob rose and smiled at me.

"The pleasure was mine, brother," he said, walking toward the door.

I retired to my own bed soon after. The next morning, the family doctor removed my stitches with absolute care though I somewhat enjoyed the small sting of each one being pulled out. It left a rather angry-looking scar, though I was rather proud of it. It was easily concealed, though made visible to anyone on a look.

The atmosphere around the house was actually a bit more pleasant than I expected. Matthew was actually speaking to me, I wondered if that had anything to do with my conversation with Jacob. Robert and I resumed our card games and board games, he might have considered me somewhat of a peer if I was not mistaken. I just had the pleasure of knowing how loudly his little dog could yowl when being torn apart. I actually felt a kind of calm, not the desperate, hollow calm from the summer; a true peace perhaps.

Christmas fell a few days after the funeral. The morning and afternoon was the usual opening of expensively boring presents, gathering around the table for the large goose whose slaughter I could only speculate on, and the usual insipid carols around the usual insipid fire. The mulled wine made this a little more bearable to the point where Matthew chuckled a little, "You don't want to start too early, save the real merriment for later."

He was right, mother's funeral festivities paled in comparison to Christmas Night. This night no one had to maintain any airs; the children and sensible adults were tucked safe in their beds and the rest plus about 50 other guests drank up the holiday cheer. Jacob was in his usual merriment, even Matthew was getting nicely pissed; chortling and rubbing his own fat belly like Father Christmas. I got into the liquor pretty well, though still was not entirely comfortable with getting completely soused in front of my brothers. Odds were I'd black out and they'd sell my body to some high-paying medical school, I wouldn't put it past them. I kept the drinking to a dull roar and tried not to get any more than a little giddy.

I was chatting up a few different ladies, I rather enjoyed the attention and a little exercise sounded good; especially know that I knew what I was doing. I narrowed my sights onto this one buxom beauty with strawberry-blonde hair. Her brother actually patted me on the back before chasing some tail of his own. She was a smart one too; rather well versed in philosophy, an avid reader of Shakespeare. I recited a few sonnets to her with the kiss of her hand and she went all woozy.

I was just about to ask her if she wanted to hear my play my violin when this slobbery, middle-aged bounder put hands around her waist and told her she was "my ray of sunshine." He practically licked her cheek before a voice off to the side called "Danny" and he was scampering off. I smoothed things over by showing concern for her after that incident, she seemed to appreciate my concern enough to go into a side bedroom with me.

She was a wild one, she was; bucking like a mare. It only encouraged me further; oh what lovely hair she had, what ample breasts. I was sure she sung in a choir with all the lovely high notes that came out of her. We were both sweating when we dressed, parting with a kiss and promising to join again another time to read some verse. I returned to the party and snagged another one soon after; a brown haired girl who wasn't as talkative, but wanted to be taken in the closet from behind. I could work with this position; she did little but it gave me more room to try a few things. She seemed happy when we parted.

I returned to the party a little while longer, thinking of Reg for some reason. The soft women were nice, but I could use something rough from such a handsome, violent man. By 1 in the morning most of the partiers were filtering to their guest rooms or crashing in whatever comfortable space was available; couches, chairs, sections of floor. I walked to my own room, feeling rather relaxed and ready for a long night's sleep.

The sound of snoring caught my attention from a couch in a small office a few doors from my room. The door was open and I peaked my head in to see who was making the racket. It was the drunken fool I'd heard called Danny earlier, the same man who pawed over my chosen filly earlier in the evening. He was sprawled out on a couch, his mouth was gaping open, drool and the most wretched sounds pouring out. His wig was falling off, revealing a bald head underneath; by his tousled clothes I took him for some wealth. He completely disgusted me, if only he would choke to death on his own saliva.

I don't know how the thought came to me; I was in a rather daring mood at the time and simply fascinated by the sheer wretchedness. How easy could this be, he was already passed out from drink. A pillow would do it; like the one I took from the other side of the couch. No one was around, I looked all around the room and down the hallway; it was just me and Danny right here.

I pressed the pillow gently against his face, he barely stirred. Both my hands clasped it and pressed harder. He flailed a little, making me press down even harder. His arms spasmed; like the body of a freshly caught fish. His breath wasn't caught in the air but in the pillow I held over his face. My heart raced, I grinned wide, he attempted a yell that was muffled by the thick cotton and thousands of feathers. The sides of the pillow in my hands were now against the sides of his face; like a pair of legs with the head committing the crime. This was better than lovemaking.

His flailing slowed rapidly, his body growing limper by the second. At last he stopped moving; oh how my trousers felt so tight in this moment. I pressed down for several more seconds to make sure there was no other movement. I then lifted the pillow; his eyes were still closed, mouth gaping, face white as a cloud. I put two fingers to the side of his neck; no blood flowed through his veins. This man was dead…by my hands and for no nobler reason than my own amusement. This was a hell-worthy offense…as was sodomy, as was fornication, what was one more? This one was much more satisfying.

I moved his head forward and put the pillow underneath, making sure to use the side I didn't use for the act. I slipped out of the room alone into the dark corridor and went into my room. I was tempted to please myself, but was a bit too tired. I wanted to think on the moment like a pleasant memory, but sleep soon took me. I woke to the first rays of sun and quite a few voices outside my room. For the first time I felt a twinge of fear; this capital offense was a little more obvious than the ones I had done with Reg. No one was pounding on my door though, that was a good start.

I put some clothes on and stepped out the door, seeing a small group gathering around the hallway by the same office. Someone must have found his body earlier. I believe it truly dawned on me what I had done the night before, the thought shot through my mind: I killed a man. I murdered someone. The feeling of guilt lasted for a second, the lingering cries of my conscience were drowned out by some modicum of pride at such a bold move. Maybe I would get away with this completely.

Matthew came out of the room half-dressed.

"What happened," I said walking forward.

Matthew shook his head and approached me, putting a hand on my shoulder and leaning into my ear.

"A man died here last night," he said.

I wore my best shocked expression.

"What?" I said, slipping into Lady Macbeth for a moment. "In this house? Right next to my room?"

"Bloody dreadful," Matthew said nodding. "His name was Daniel Benton, he was a solicitor I had on retainer. He was rather inebriated last night, Dr. Wallace thinks he just fell asleep and stopped breathing. He wasn't a very sturdy fellow either, probably drank too much."

"Dear God," I said with a sigh. "Such a bloody shame. Did he have a family?"

"A wife, two grown children I believe," Matthew said. "A fine man of business with a magnificent sense of humor. Such a shame."

"My condolences," I said. "I passed him for a moment in the party and that was it. So dreadful."

So bloody dreadful, such a loss to the world.


	8. Part 8

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Author's note: While writing this story, I have become aware of the details of the upcoming OVA "The Tale of William the Shinigami" and how it is a form of background for Grell. After much thought, I decided that while I will use elements of that OVA in distant chapters, this story is separate and will not follow the exact same events and timeline. This will make this story AU depending on how you view the OVA in canon.

**Part 8**

Daniel Benton; aged 46 years. The un-devoted husband of Julia Benton; the father of Owen Benton, a barrister; and Susan Williams, the wife of an up and coming accountant who recently birthed their first child. He was a skilled and wealthy solicitor with several notable businesses among his clientele, but he had a bawdy sense of humor; having the right joke for any moment. He loved food, he loved wine, he loved dancing, he had a thing for pretty young women that Mrs. Benton was ever wary of.

These were the details of his life that his murderer learned from other members of the party the morning after his body was found. The killer sat among the similarly drained nobles and businessmen sipping his glass of wine and injecting a few sad shakes of the head, melding completely into the crowd. The culprit played the role of the handsome, concerned younger brother of Baron Sutcliff, the party's host; red hair down over his shoulders in morning dishevelment that made him look more dashing in the morning after.

The story I was writing in my head was becoming more entertaining at the moment. It was the stuff modern novels and popular London productions were made of, only it happened right here and the one mentally writing this script was the murderer himself. The biggest plot twist to all of this was no foul play was ever suspected. The poor sod got too drunk and died in his sleep: it was repeated over and over at breakfast, mentioned a few times at lunch, whispered about at tea, and was a couple murmurs by dinner.

I would get away with it completely, I had a little spring in my step at the thought. It was the perfect crime. I giddy all day long, this pure sense of peace I had never felt before. An intense ride, a night of violent lovemaking, the satisfaction of seeing a brat's face covered in blood could not compare. The few stabs of my dying conscience just made the surge of excitement more intense.

Danny's body was shipped back to London in the evening. By morning the majority of the guests followed behind in their respective grand carriages though I thought Danny's passing greetings were a bit more sincere. He was nigh forgotten by the end of the week amid other talk of house and business.

New Year's was a much quieter affair, at the request of the Lady I assumed and I could blame her for nothing. It was just the brothers and their respective families that night; some food, a few games, the constant presence of the children kept the drinking down to a minimum. A few rollicking games of Blind Man's Bluff and the children's privilege to stay up past midnight were the highlights of the occasion. Matthew broke out the champagne and the sparkling spirit was flowing at the stroke of midnight.

"A toast to a happy and prosperous 1776," Matthew said raising is glass high. "God has blessed us with the company of family and the warmth of home in these ever-changing times."

I drank to the death of 1775; bloody hell what a horrendous year.

Term began two weeks later though I was given leave to return a week early. "We know you want to be back with your friends, Grell, and away from these stuffy old buggers," Matthew said.

The day before I would finally leave this hole, David summoned me: the Baron wished to have tea with me. I supposed I could humor him. I was hardly surprised when I entered the room to find Matthew and Jacob sitting at the table with three other businessmen I recognized from the past parties; smiles firmly set, Matthew beckoning me in with an enthusiastic hand. He introduced his associates; all executives with Sutcliff Agriculture.

When the usual talk started of how much of a wonderful young man I was, I knew bloody well better than to think they just brought me here for tea or even to show me off. This particular recitation of "he will be graduating from grammar school in a year and a half" was particularly telling and the perfect introduction for the real reason why I was there.

"Grell, we wanted to invite you into our little business discussion to give you some idea of how our family's company works," Matthew said. "A little insight into what your brother and I do everyday."

I was tempted to call it a "recruitment session" but I held my tongue. I was a captive audience and acting like a screaming child at the moment would only make me look even lower than I already did. It was best to feign interest. Then again this wasn't exactly a press gang, it was an exercise in catching more flies with honey or something to that effect.

The talk turned to business between the gentlemen and my brothers, I sat sipping tea looking intrigued by all the talk of numbers and markets and what products were ready when. They were designing a new kind of plow for smaller fields and having some difficulty with the size of it. One of them, a Mr. Farrington I believe his name was, said the test pieces were apparently not turning the soil well enough and they were discussing various alternative designs.

"Grell," Matthew said, suddenly turning to me with one of the plans. "You're a creative mind, do you have any ideas?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the obviousness and played along, taking the plans and giving them a closer look. I wasn't familiar with all the numbers and notes, but the basic measurements and dimensions were easy enough to decipher. I took a close look at the drawing of the field and the shape of the equipment, getting some kind of idea they would probably write off as bollocks whilst smiling stupidly at me.

"The problem doesn't so much lie with the size as with the shape," I said. "If you angled the blade, I would say perhaps 40 degrees, gave it a slight curve it should be able to plow up as much as needs be."

I saw Mr. Farrington's eyebrows raise as he looked closer at the plans.

"It's certainly an idea and very feasible," he said.

A few more words were exchanged, I offered some suggestions of my own and tried to ignore Matthew and Jacob's little glance amongst themselves. I will admit it was an interesting conversation, though damned if I was going to be drawn into my brothers' little trap. After the discussions died down, I politely excused myself saying I had practicing to do. I was given some words of appreciation when I left; Matthew and Jacob smiling like hungry foxes.

I happily took my leave of this place the next day, glad to be going yet not entirely desperate as I was last time. A measure of peace perhaps? Or perhaps not. Matthew and the rest of the family bade farewells as warm as a fresh corpse when I finally boarded the carriage. All I could think of was getting back to school, getting ragingly drunk, and getting violently rammed by Reg. The thought of it made me giddy the entire ride back.

At last King's Crest was back into view. This return a bit more bittersweet; I wasn't ready to kiss the ground upon arrival yet I did have a sense of happiness. I did find some of the lads, the reception to my arrival refreshingly warm and seemingly sincere. We sat at the dining hall for a snack and a pint with a little chit chat.

Word had spread about mother. The lads bade me their condolences and gave a sincerer toast to her than Reg did at the end of term. I noticed these ones were being a little friendlier to me now than they did before leaving, or rather after the little spectacle in Aldeburgh. No one was saying anything, but perhaps they had an explanation as to why I nearly snuffed myself.

Lord Kirkney himself would be along in a few days. Alex Hammond told me he saw Reg at a Christmas gathering and Reg told him he needed to stay for his fiancée's birthday party. The mention of her hit a bit of a raw nerve. I knew he was betrothed by order of his family, though it was a factor easily forgotten. I did ask some basic information about her, curiosity for a friend of course. Her name was Isabelle Marling, the daughter of the Viscount Marling and indeed Reg's second cousin. Alex said he saw her at the party; a rather homely, yet sophisticated young lady around Reg's age. Apparently Reg took her arm on proper occasion and ignored her the rest of the time.

Two days before the start of classes, Lord Kirkney made his grand appearance in the dining hall; downing a pint in practically one gulp to celebrate his return. No one made mention of Isabelle, likely the discussion would end with two words and a fist to the face. He surely wasn't discussing the topic, simply going back to the usual gossip and conspiracies against the younger pupils. What a sight for sore eyes he was.

We met later in the evening for a "study session" where I was stripped most violently and smashed repeatedly against the bedpost. Oh he was not gentle with me at all, I couldn't stop grinning the whole time. That toned chest pressed against my back, our bodies drenched in sweat; all those little birds at the manor were nothing compared to the pure savage ecstasy of this beautiful brute. He had much frustration to work out and I was only happy to oblige him. We finished and collapsed in a heap, panting breaths were all we could produce for a while. Reg was the one who ended the silence.

"How was the funeral," he said. "Father did send his condolences."

The timing of his well-wishes was typical for him.

"Fitting," I replied. "A nice, grand celebration for such a grand lady. You'll understand if I do not wish to discuss any further."

A nod of the head was all I needed in response.

I said nothing after this of my family or the party or all the girls. Like he would have given a toss, he probably fucked half the older boys on campus and had a steady stream of female bedmates back home. I suppose the only woman he refused to bang was his betrothed; stay pure until the wedding of course. I had a hard time imagining him married, I actually pitied any woman who was stuck with this cad for life. I could see any bride of his taking the "'til death do us part" option into their own hands whether on themselves or on him, especially after what I assume happened between my own mother and father. I could also see Reggie doing the same.

Classes resumed two days later as did the usual routine. Dear God how good it felt to be back; lunch and dinner with my fellow louts, a few nights a week in Aldeburgh. The incident at the end of last term was essentially forgotten; no lingering awkwardness with my mates, we moved to a few different pubs and word hardly spread. I was watching myself a bit more with the liquor for about a day or so, but the day or so passed in favor of the usual drink and song.

Reg started to host more social gatherings in his room with an ample supply of his own spirits; we called them study sessions at first. It was apparent after a few weeks his pricier, more comfortable suite was becoming the group gathering place like; his own salon. We still gathered at the pub, though Reg's room was a bit more convenient and a bit more popular. We did have to watch our tone in his room lest our gatherings gain the attention of the housemaster, though he was probably already comfortable in the pocket of the Kirkney march.

Reg and I started meeting on a regular basis for our own private tutoring sessions. Shockingly he let me top a few times; said I'd "earned the privilege." I did have ample practice with the girls over the holidays, though this was much better; nothing soft, everything pure, toned muscle I could run my hands and lips over. His deep grunts more beautiful than high-pitched screams. I felt like I was truly home. He did ask afterward if I had any practice, I couldn't lie. He responded to my tales with dirty cackles. "Our boy's become a man," he managed to say between chortles.

It was the beginning of February when he invited Thad and I for a legitimate study session; "Sutcliff, you have a better handle of the French language than all of us. Impart your knowledge." I sat in a plush chair, he and Thad were sitting on the same sofa; appropriate as I was leading this session.

I was making some points on pronunciation when it became rather obvious Reg and Thad were leaning on each other. I continued as I watched Reg nuzzle his nose against his face, planting small kisses along his jaw line. My recitation stopped and my eyes were glued on the two in one silent moment. I slammed the book closed, both of them gave me soft glances. I stared at both of them.

"Are you quite finished," Reg said, lapping up the side of Thad's face. Thad shuddered and grinned.

I simply kept staring, my expression blank.

"Good," Reg said, his hand trailing out toward me. "Because Thaddeus is rather curious about you and I confess I have told him some tales."

"All of it quite good," Thad said, kissing up the side of Reg's face. "He said you're an animal."

Thad broke from Reg's embrace and walked up to me like a stalking cat, stroking the side of my face. I leaned in, running his hand with my lips though I was still glaring at him. I grabbed his wrist and bit hard into his hand; lapping up the warm, salty ambrosia. He let out a little yelp, I felt his hand shake in my grasp. I looked up at him, his blood still on the corner of my mouth.

"You want this?" I said.

Reg chuckled off to the side. Thad's eyes were wide as saucers, though he leaned his bleeding hand against my face. I continued to stare at him, his quivering lips took a smile.

"Show me your worst," he said.

I merely smiled, he and his little friend were going to regret those words.

His expression turned from curious to panicked when I slammed him to the ground, ripping his shirt open and leaving bite marks in his flesh. I lapped up the small beads of blood between nips, he actually threw his head back and left his throat open. His hands roughly caressed my shoulders. He wanted this. I could hear the crystal decanter opened with a clink as I tore his trousers off. There was a slight tap on my shoulder, I looked up to see Reg show me a bottle of some sort of oil.

"Tight as a drum," Reg said, tossing the bottle to me.

"Thanks," I said.

Reg was right, though I figured this moment was only adding to that. Thad was relaxing considerably; breaking from his initial panic and truly savoring the savage experience. He lay there like a fish, though I couldn't say I minded. He was my prey now; my taut, athletic prey. I barely noticed the bottle of oil come off the floor, but I smelled it right enough and had a feeling I knew what would be next. I saw Reg leap from the couch in the corner of my eye. A few moments later he was positioned behind me. It was a bit distracting at first, but the three of us established a rhythm. I was afraid I would be so overwhelmed, this was nothing like I had ever felt before. Here I was between two gorgeous, panting, sweating boys. It felt like the greatest moment of my life, though I still wondered how this sensation compared with smothering Danny Benton in his sleep. I would have to ponder that one later.

The moment seemed to last a blissful eternity, but alas everyone gradually finished. We lay in a heap for a moment. Thad caressed my face and kissed me.

"Bloody hell you're amazing," he said between heavy breaths, a stupid grin plastered over his face. "I'm going to be dreaming of this."

The "study session" ended when we all had our clothes on, took a few sips of brandy, and left Lord Kirkney's room. Thad gave me a rather jovial greeting the next morning.

"You should consider becoming an ambassador, you're command of the French language is pure perfection," he said. "I daresay I owe you my life on the next test."

I had an odd feeling the rest of the lads could read the meaning. In the coming weeks every single suspicion that I had about Reg and the rest of the group was confirmed in the most blatant way possible.

A week after the evening with Thad, I went into Reg's room another night to see Tom Riley sitting next to Reg. I had he oddest feeling this was going to play itself out the same way, though reserved any judgment. Sure enough the idle conversation lead to Tom playing with my hair as Reg dipped a hand under his shirt.

"I've heard great things about you," Tom said, kissing my cheek, Reg in my peripheral vision with that shit-eating smirk.

I could have politely declined, I could have shoved him away, I could have beaten him to a bloody pulp and shoved Reg's nose into it. I didn't, I followed along. Tom was a good looking lad, a champion fencer, not the brightest candle but witty enough.

I went a bit easier on Tom, Reg took his own position on him, debauchery ensued. I enjoyed this only for the shear nature of the act but I couldn't put the situation out of my head.

Reg practically ordered us out as soon as we finished. We dressed and Tom went out like the good little dog. I lingered for a moment, giving a rather pointed look to Reg. Reg just looked back at me with a blank expression. I didn't know if I should thank him for such a unique opportunity or claw his eyes out for using me as his plaything. Then again it was typical Reg; we were all his playthings. I simply walked out the door.

Tom was certainly friendly with me the next day as were a few more of the lads. There were a few polite rubs of the elbow and strokes of the finger when passing me the vinegar, there were a few passing comments about wanting to know my exercise routine. It was plain as day now. I wasn't surprised a few days later when Reg passed me a note asking to join him and James Calvington for discussions of cricket plays.

Reg was getting bolder, or stupider. I supposed all along he was carrying out his affairs in a subtle fashion, but now they were obvious to all. It was a dangerous game; more information was being spread among different parties with different interests. Reg made a big point about the danger of such carnal knowledge leaking out, but now he was sharing it so readily among a mixed group who had everything to gain if a couple words slipped to the right people. However everyone had everything to lose if the finger was pointed at them. Perhaps Reg did know what he was doing, I laughed at myself for questioning the puppet master at his work.

My main concern then turned to the house staff. They might have been paid to ignore drunken singing and the occasional stumble, but the sounds of our extracurricular activities were much different. All it took was one ear to the door at the right time to murder all of us, this was decorum Reg couldn't exactly bribe himself out of. Then again maybe he could; nobles got away with murder easily enough, everyone was in someone's pocket. I doubted Reg would be stupid enough to commit a hanging worthy crime that blatantly unless he thoroughly covered his arse in every way possible.

I briefly considered declining Reg's invitation on principle, but spite didn't sound too much fun so I went anyway. This time I just enjoyed the moment, though I wasn't very nice to either James or Reg. Both of them would walk away with scratches and bitemarks over several parts of their flesh and I would walk away feeling sufficiently relaxed.

A few days later Reg passed me in the hallway and asked me to join him in his room again. Somehow the invitation was akin to rubbing the improper way on a cat. I blurted out the question of if we would be alone; as much as I didn't want to appear too needy, I had to say something.

"Yes, just one-on-one tutoring this time," Reg said. "I'm in a bit of a squeeze, I need some personal attention."

Cheeky bastard.

"So you do still value my help alone," I said.

He paused and looked at me, giving this uncomfortable smirk.

"I just find you a good teacher," he said. "I thought you might want to share the knowledge like a gentleman, why let me have all the benefit."

I was tempted to ask what made him think I wanted to share that knowledge with anyone else, but I stopped myself.

"Don't be modest, you do enjoy sharing your talents," he said. "I can see the glee in your eyes, the way you conduct yourself. You've been enjoying this."

I couldn't really argue with him on this point.

I joined him in his room later that night and we were indeed alone. I savored every moment of it. He was amazing that night, he just knew what made me melt and what made me whimper. We didn't speak about our joint study sessions, we just did what we did and parted normally.

I bore no grudge against him a week later when Victor Shelley walked into Reg's room while we were sipping port. I actually enjoyed the process this time, Reg and I played so well off each other and Victor was a little animal.

Did it cross my mind a few times that Reg was playing Leapfrog with a few other combinations of boys? I was sure he was as sure as I was sure he fucked every one of the boys in our circle. However I found I was becoming a bit more popular with the lads, my stories and conversations gaining as much attention as Reg's. I savored the attention, both from boys I knew in a Biblical sense and ones with which I had not had the pleasure. Perhaps I was that in demand, perhaps I gained a measure of awe.

Occasionally there were a few twitters from some about how I was Reggie's favorite toy to use on everyone. I would invariably respond to these little whispers privately voicing my disdain for such talk punctuated by fingernails across the face or a thumb pressed against the Adam's apple with the right pressure to conjure complete panic. Sometimes imparting a little information of how loudly a calf can scream whilst being neutered was enough to drive the point home. The whispers ceased in good time.

After a while it was obvious that I had become the beta wolf. Reg practically saved a seat next to him at mealtimes, I would approach the table feeling all eyes on me. I had no interest in challenging the alpha, watching from a secondary position was much more amusing. Reg wasn't exactly minding, in fact I think he was rather amused.

As term progressed there were fewer "study sessions" and fewer time with Reg. I went a nearly two-week stretch before getting a night alone with him. Yes it annoyed me to no end, yes I did have the suspicion he was seeing other boys over me. In that one night he finally invited me into his room, all the reluctance and the anger was suddenly smoothed over. At last my head rested in his lap, books in our hands though our palms were starting to wander other places. There was a knock on the door and I shot up to a sit, knowing what would happen next and trying to keep from growling.

Sure enough Reg bade entry and the gorgeous newcomer Don Miguel Cordoba walked in. As soon as the door was shut, he ripped off his shirt, revealing his muscles and beautiful swarthy skin. It was indeed a beautiful show and would only get better, though I could not suppress the twinge of annoyance. The way Reg took his eyes off me and looked up and down the new arrival put me off considerably. I rather enjoyed the beautiful Spaniard on top of my back, though it was clear Reg was going to take the top position with him; this in itself bothered me for some reason.

Perhaps the novelty of our group sessions was dying down, I tried to put the thought out of my head that affections for Reg had something to do with it. It dawned on me after a while that time was against us: Reg was graduating after this term. This likely explained why he was expanding the visitations from one boy at a time to two, why he was hosting so many drunken parties in his own room. He was squeezing as much out of his remaining time here as he could.

"You still graduating this term?" I said to him in the library.

He finished writing down a note in quiet, but I could see a grimace.

"It's nigh on official," he said, dipping his quill in his well. "I have to go for the final interview, but it shall be happening in May."

"Do you know what you're going to do?" I said, looking back into the book on Copernicus.

"Father and I are going to Naples for the summer, he wants me to get a taste of the diplomat's life," he said, though he seemed hardly amused.

I didn't want to ask about Isabelle, I wanted to pretend Isabelle didn't exist. She probably didn't exist to him either.

Cricket season started again in March and Reg talked me into joining the school team. I had little interest in playing anything but the observer in such sports. I didn't mind breaking a sweat whilst riding, though shoes in the mud and paddles whipping everywhere was not exactly what I considered gentlemanly. He pressed enough and I was approached by more of his teammates. What the hell, might as well have a go.

I actually caught on quick and started making some powerful plays. It was a rather exhilarating activity; the yelling and screaming from the crowd, the heart pounding triumph of a miraculous play and the gut wrenching tragedy of an ill call. Seeing a bunch of half-naked boys by the lockers later was but a small incentive.

This activity putting me more in Reg's company. I got to see him up close on the field, watch how he ran like a powerful stag, and swung the bat like a weapon against the offending ball. He gave me some sideways smiles and node of approval in game, though toasted my abilities to the lads.

The turn from the locker room to his room gave us some more actual alone time. It was the subject of a few post-coital conversations; it actually kept both of us in the same room after the deed was done. Naturally some cricket terms were used in a rather naughty way.

The crowd at our games consisted mostly of the student body peppered with a few faculty members and families if they were so inclined. At least one set of visiting relatives was there at any given time, you could tell by the older men in wigs and any ladies in nice dresses. It was amusing seeing some dressed to the top noble standing up and screaming with his arms in the air, the ladies could be just as exuberant.

I remember Reg being up to the bat in one game and suddenly hearing a female voice call "Reggie" from the stands. He kept his focus and whipped the ball to the other side of the field, getting in three runs. I took over on bat, the quick thought of who's voice that was floating through my head before I took my stance. A two-run hit and hearing my own name called out by more people made me forget all about it.

A winning game and some towel-down time later, Reg and I emerged from locker room chatting about something or other. Suddenly a set of hands wrapped over Reg's face, covering his eyes. I drew back and saw a woman in a lacy blue dress with brown hair piled up on her head with little jeweled picks standing behind him.

"Guess who!" she said in a sing-song manner.

Reg gently pried her hands off his face, his expression and body language saying he wanted to grab her arms and drop her to the ground but he was too gentlemanly to do so. She took his hands and turned her around to face him, one hand cupping his chin as she gave him a modest kiss. He pulled away from in a rather obvious manner and gave her a tempered glare.

"Isabelle," he said. "What are you doing here?"

My stomach went a little sour.

"Daddy and Donny had to go to Ipswich for business and took mother and I with them," Isabelle said. "We decided to take a little side trip to Aldeburgh and I just begged him to bring us for a visit."

"How splendid," Reg said with a little smile.

He wanted to tell her to fuck off and get out of his territory, it was plain on his face. Instead he tried to look happy, like a happy fiancé greeting his betrothed. I didn't know whether to feel bad for the lout or smack him for being such a pushover. This was Reg Kirkney we're talking about and here he was putting on a happy act when he was clearly in hell. He was in a position where he had no other choice.

Isabelle was nothing to look at but wasn't as ugly as I pictured her. Her nose and chin were a little long. She did have nice clear skin and pretty green eyes, but the rest of her features were a bit plain. She was a little on the plump side but had a decent figure.

The girl did have a respectable sense of fashion; that blue dress with a few white ruffles was simple yet had an elegance to it.

Reg looked at me almost helplessly as he took her hands.

"Oh how rude of me," Reg said. "Isabelle, this is my good friend Mr. Grell Sutcliff. Mr. Sutcliff, this is Miss Isabelle Marling, my fiancée."

I took her hand and bowed like a good gentleman, seeing Reg let go of her hands and stepped away.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady," I said.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Sutcliff," she said with a giggle, doing a small curtsey. "Reginald has mentioned you a few times."

"Oh dear, my reputation must be out then," I quipped, glancing at Reg who gave me a stiff smirk.

"And a fine reputation it is," she said. "I hear you are a skilled musician with a command of languages, and I see you are a talented athlete as well. Of course my Reginald would be friends with such a Renaissance man."

Of course Reg would be friends with someone so physically agile and skilled in tongues.

"You flatter me, my lady," I said. "And of course Reginald would have a beautiful lady as you as his bride."

Reg smiled, those blue eyes boring through me like a hot poker. Isabelle leaned over into my ear.

"And you will be receiving an invitation to the wedding soon," she said softly, leaning over to me. "We're marrying in October."

My body went numb. My mouth dropped open for a moment, but I corrected myself to wear a smile. Must put on appearances after all.


	9. Part 9

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Author's Note:** The next chapter will be submitted right after this. I've been on a roll with this and next chapter you'll see why.

**Part 9**

Reg glanced at me with an even expression, I couldn't tell if he was trying to mock me or afraid I would react in a most violent way. Perhaps he pitied me, but I doubted that.

I was a gentleman after all, why would I react with anything other than polite happiness?

"Truly?" I said, putting on a convincing act whilst trying to push down the hot rage building up in my chest. In managed a few laughs. "That's wonderful!" I turned to Reg, who looked stiff as a statue. "Why didn't you say something sooner, you cad?"

"Well we wanted this to be a quiet affair," Reg said, his eyes darting around to make sure no one else was in the hallway. "Save the celebration for the wedding."

"The happiness of an engagement is nothing without the happiness of the wedding itself," Isabelle said, stepping closer to Reg and taking his hands.

My vision caught sight of another figure coming down the hallway. I looked over to see a gentleman with two powdered curls on each side of his head and a plain brown suit approaching us from the side of the hallway from which Isabelle emerged.

"There you are, darling daughter," he said with a smile. "I wondered where you had wandered off to."

Isabelle grabbed Reg's hands and turned around to greet her father; I assumed this was the Viscount Marling. A part of me was thankful for the distraction, a part of me wanted to bite his throat for interrupting us. All of me was simply numb, the bile rising and spreading throughout my body.

"Sorry, father, I just had to find my Reginald," Isabelle said.

I imagined Reggie was wearing a stiff smirk, but I couldn't even look at him right now.

"Now, now, dear, you must be careful not to meddle too much in the affairs of young men," he said. "Lord Kirkney is rather busy at this point in his schooling."

"It is no mind, my lord," Reg said, I managed to glance at him and see him give a slight bow. "Your daughter's presence is always a ray of sunshine to me."

A searing sun flare maybe. It surely felt like flames were licking my face at the moment after Lord Kirkney opened his bloody mouth.

The idle chit chat continued, though I barely paid attention to any of it. I simply stood off to the side like a good little supportive friend. I didn't want to look at any of them, though I couldn't; appearances and all that. I didn't want to look rude. I was just the friend after all, just the close mate to the future bridegroom. I watched as darling Isabelle clung tight to Reg's hand as her father accosted him with the usual "we've heard so many great things about what you're doing" speech.

I did pull myself back into the conversation when Reg introduced his "good friend Grell Sutcliff" and how "his family runs Sutcliff Agriculture." I actually had to look up at the viscount's amused expression and Isabelle's amazed smile.

The viscount released a lot of verbal drivel about "I met Baron Sutcliff at a trade show last year, a most witty man he is." Some bollocks followed about how I should tell my brother about his shipping company should he decide to expand. I smiled and followed the conversation with a few intelligent words. My annoyance was palpable but I tried my damndest to not let it show.

I was a mad Hamlet in the presence of Polonius, book in hand and smiling stupidly; it was all merely words. They may as well have been speaking in tongues for I barely paid attention to any of it. I somewhat remembered hearing a few words before about how the Viscount wanted to talk over a few details with Reg. Finally Reg said my name and I brought my attention forward.

"I'll be free later tonight, just drop by when you feel like it," Reg said.

I took a moment to realize I was being spoken to, only to immediately understand the meaning of his words. It was a cheeky move on his part; I knew what he usually had in mind when inviting me to his room. His future family only saw two schoolboys making plans. I wondered if this was a test to see how cross I was at the moment or perhaps he just expected it. I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or smack him.

"I have some reading to do then practice, but I should be free a little later," I said, taking on a neutral tone.

It was the most diplomatic thing I could say at the time, but he was certainly going to pay for this later. I couldn't just refuse him, such was the way it was.

"Brilliant," he said, walking away with the family like a pony being lead around the stable. "I'll see you then, cheers."

"Yeah, cheers mate," I said, turning to the in-laws with the usual "I am deeply honored to have met you both" bollocks.

A few pithy sentiments and urging from the viscount to tell Baron Sutcliff how great he was later, I was walking in the opposite direction.

I should have expected this, I should have know this was going to happen: Reg is betrothed and he's graduating from grammar school. What better time to marry him and send him off to life as a "man?" I should be feeling sorry for Reg, or perhaps I should be wishing him well. She's not such a bad girl; maybe he needs a good woman to make an honest gentleman out of him and I was sure Isabelle could do it.

I wasn't angry, I wasn't feeling the slightest bit betrayed; of course not. Reg was only a pursuit, a fun time, games among boys but we had to accept growing up into the world of men. I would go to his wedding and toast him high. I repeated every one of these vows in my head over an over again; nothing kept me from feeling ill.

As tempted as I was to just go to Aldeburgh and get smashed instead of meeting up with Reg, I walked like an idiot to his room later in the evening. He let me in, that usual smile plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said with a sigh, sitting down in a chair.

"I pitied you terribly," I said with a forced laugh, taking a seat across from him. "So that's the bag?"

Reg rolled his eyes and nodded.

"I told both of them not to bother me like that again, I had my own affairs," he said.

"You had a reputation to uphold," I said with a smirk. "But then that isn't going to be an issue soon."

It was late March, graduation was in mid May. The reality sunk into my mind, we had less than two months. The sands were running out of the hourglass.

He sat and studied me for a moment.

"This changes nothing," he said. "I'll be damned if I stop living once I put that ring on her bloody finger."

"The party isn't going to end for you," I said. "How about the boys, how about those wild nights with a glass in hand?"

"My private affairs, none of her business," Reg said. "She wants to be a good wife, so she can be a good wife by staying quiet. Be a proper woman, don't challenge your husband."

I chuckled a bit, feeling a bit more sorry for the poor girl marrying him. Was this how my father viewed my mother when they first learned of each other? Reg was going to die mysteriously in his bed in 10 years, long enough for the sow to fertilize a few piglets and for the little wife to find the location of most of his assets. If only she were that wily, though I had a strong suspicion such was not the case.

Reg said something about making this up to me and filled that promise most grandly; I had scratches down my back for days and I could barely walk straight afterwards. The young lord was a bit frustrated and, as usual, I was his recreation. I was his whipping post, I was his exercise, I was his entertainment when reality became a bit too scary. I wasn't the only one, but I was clearly the favorite (or so I hoped). Somehow this made up nothing in the long run, though I still cherished all of it.

I still savored every moment with him like an enamored little girl. Perhaps I was the polar opposite of his little Isabelle in every way yet he still viewed me the same. I was already sharing him with most of our fellows, I was to soon share him with his wife? I found the thought of it unsettling though I wasn't exactly sure why.

The little parties in Reg's room grew sparser and sparser as the semester drew down; Lord Kirkney needed more time to study, or so I heard. Reg grew quieter, his usual bawdiness at mealtimes a bit muted. He seemed a bit more agitated, a little shorter; pushing the kids a bit more blatantly when he would just toy with them, throwing insults at the lads more regularly. I actually felt bad for the sod, deep down I only desired to see that devilish smile on his face again.

I tried not to think on the complete nature of his situation, perhaps because it mirrored my situation. I doubted an arranged marriage would be in my future, Jacob only knew that would slow down productivity. No, my brothers wanted to chain me to something more efficient than a woman though maybe I was to be as trapped as old Reggie. I tried to think on alternatives for Reg's situation as I entertained alternatives for my own.

Somehow I believed I found the solution, a spark of plan formed in my head that was absolutely brilliant to me at the time. Something to let us live happily ever after? My childishly romantic mind indeed hoped so.

At last he asked me for a private tutoring session, I was giddy after receiving the invitation. I had something I wanted to share with him afterward, a truly genius idea on my part. One that would solve all our problems.

I waited until we had finished, until our breathing slowed and the wave died down.

"Do you know what you should do, Reg," I said, flopping over onto my side and leaning on my elbow. He lay back and looked at me with this bemused smirk. "Go to Naples, marry your woman, make yourself into a respectable man for the next year. Get more into the shipping trade with your father-in-law, start making a lot of money for yourself. In the meantime, my brothers are trying to rope me into the family business, though, here's the thing, they want to expand operations. They want a few more offices in England, but I heard a few mentions of Paris or Munich."

Reg immediately started laughing, it was a bit obvious where I was going with this.

"Reg, this is called a mutual understanding," I continued. I looked into his eyes, finally ready to say what I had been wanting to. "Let's go into business together. We'll both take this year to get our feet in the waters, learn a few things, and then regroup. Matthew would soil himself at the thought of this alliance, he would want to fold it under him but it would be our project. We could work together, we…we could stay together. We're business partners, no one will think anything queer about how we conduct our affairs."

A small voice in the back of my mind told me how desperate I sounded. Reg gazed at me, but I could see the laughs ready to break through.

"And maybe after a few years, darling Isabelle takes ill," I said. "All it takes is some powder in the pudding and she's no longer an issue."

"Oh God, you bloody nutter," Reg said in a guffaw, though I heard an incredulous tone in his voice. "This charming plan of your includes snuffing someone, if that don't beat all."

"Then fine, she can live as long as she stays the quiet little wife like you want her to be," I said.

"And so we go sailing into the sunset like a ruddy fairy tale?" he said, practically choking on laughter. "Floating on a rainbow and the pot of gold we will miraculously make in 20 years on the power of our undying love. Blimey Grell, I hope you're not serious."

He thought I was having a laugh? He really thought I was joking. I felt my smile just collapse.

"You would rather go through with this like a good little dog," I said. At last it was starting to come out. "You'd rather get on your father's leash and then have the chain transferred to your darling wife and her father?"

The look he gave me was pure poison, though softened to the usual smarmy smile.

"Grell, my friend, I have to remember that you were the youngest boy," he said. "A little pet who came along so long after all the wheels stopped turning. You have been a privileged little boy free of all the schemes with not a bloody clue how it works for the rest of us."

I felt my glare bore through him; he deserved a few broken bones for how he was speaking to me right now. He must have noticed my expression, for his features softened slightly and he became more business-like than mocking.

"We are men of the gentry, we have our own duties," he said. "And we're the next-born sons, you know damn well how this works Grell; we stand to gain nothing from our families, we are nothing. No chance at title, little chance of money, only position in itself. Both our families have given us our own opportunities, some families would just cut us loose and expect us to float or laugh as we sink. I have an in on several thousand pounds a year by going through with this, and you have a foot in the door on a growing manufacturing company and here you are talking about throwing that all out. I should be cross with you for the mere suggestion, but no, you're a child; a Baron's brother with no concept of how the world really works."

"And you do, the little rake who takes half a school into your bed," I said, savoring his glare. "And your grand scheme in life is to elevate yourself by being a whore, or better yet a breeder, and you lecture me on how the world really works?"

"And there's an alternative?" his voice betrayed a small crack. "Are you that alternative? Is this what this is all about?"

My face grew hot, I tried to stare him down but only knew I was giving myself more away.

"And Isabelle is the ideal, and your father, and the viscount, they all provide the ideal?" I said. "You're a bloody coward."

"Have some respect, baron's brat," he hissed. "I am the second son of a marquis, my life is dedicated to my family."

"Because you know nothing for yourself."

"I want to hear you tell this to your brother, I want you to walk right up to Baron Sutcliff and just tell him to shove his family's duty up his arse."

I wanted to claw his eyes out, but only because he spoke the truth. I didn't have the balls to say such a thing to Matthew and I knew it. But then there was a reason for that.

"I wouldn't now, only because I have no other choice," I said.

"Point proven."

"You could be that other choice, as I could be that other choice for you. There are alternatives, Reg. We are intelligent men, we could fulfill our duties in such a way that would be most beneficial for us."

Reg looked at me and smirked.

"And being with you the rest of my life is most beneficial for me?"

My stomach soured, I gazed into his eyes; not glaring or staring daggers mind you, we were past that point. I was waiting for him to call me a lovesick fool, for hanging on where I was not welcome. Instead he let out a small sigh, leaning over and stroking my hair. I resisted the urge to bite him.

"Grell, I applaud you for having a plan, I do," Reg said. "You are an intelligent man, but we both have much more to learn about the world. You have to admit it, even you know this little scheme will never work."

I had to leave it at that, I had to smile a little and agree with him in so many words though I meant none of it. I was content with a polite kiss and some peaceful parting words, the essential promise that we would never mention this again.

At least I tried to think, he was content not to; he was resigned to his fate. As much as he spoke of duty and propriety, he still looked like the penned pig hearing the axe being sharpened. And all of us thought he was so tough too.

For some reason I still counted down the weeks until the end of term, then the days. The debauchery drew to a halt, Reg wasn't even inviting me for private tutoring. I wasn't sure whether he was annoyed with my grand plan or because of any other reason remained to be seen. Perhaps he didn't want me getting too close to him. Regardless, I told myself I didn't notice but the pit of my stomach didn't let me forget. As much as I almost wished the coward would just bloody leave already, I still couldn't bear the thought of going that far.

The days passed, I saw him less, and I knew every moment we did not spend together was one less moment we would ever have. I had no hope that anything would continue after he graduated; he was the lord of mistruths, telling everyone what they wanted to hear. He was a coward and a snake, I would be better off without him. I told this to myself as I fought off tears every night thinking of him, as my heart pounded in my chest at the hope he would actually come to lunch and I would see him again.

This wasn't supposed to happen; he was a cad, he was a plaything, he was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Our first time together was forced, every other time wasn't as different as I wanted it to be. This couldn't be happening but it was; perhaps I was falling in love. The thought was abhorrent to me. Love was a yoke, love was a high ideal, love was weakness. But here I was scratching my nails down my chest hard enough to draw blood to flense him from my mind.

I didn't want to love him, I shouldn't love him. No, loving him would be a mistake; I would be playing right into his hand. He wanted me to love him, he wanted me to feel everything for him, that's why he played with me so. And here I was giving him the satisfaction; I hated him for it. I wanted to see him bleed for it, but then he would be bleeding for it enough.

That was my revenge, that was my peace; he was walking into a life of absolute hell for leaving me. I could give him so much more than his family or that little bitch he was marrying, but he didn't see it. He would burn for it, he would rot for it, such was my peace; such was supposed to be my peace.

And from time to time Reg would crawl out of his hole and I would see him in the usual places; we chatted about the usual things, that was it. I put on a happy face and a calm demeanor, acting like the gentleman I was supposed to be. It was a routine for all of us by then.

Somehow I was actually looking forward to the end of school; my haven was now dingy and infested with rats around every corner. Perhaps whatever Matthew had in mind for me better than this.

I was more taken aback than surprised Reg invited a few of the lads to his room for some drinks a week before the end of term. He called it the 18th birthday he wouldn't have. He was turning 18 in July, likely he would do so in Naples with daddy and the servants though he wasn't sharing many details.

A group of us congregated in his room about five days before the end of term, everyone entering the room like entering a parlor. I expected clothes to come off at any moment and a grand Roman orgy, instead the entire night was conversation over cordials. Everyone kept their clothes on, no one discussed what had happened between all of us, though everyone was looking at everyone in a certain way. You could cut the awkwardness with a knife.

This as Reg's party, but he wasn't exactly the life of it. By now it was painfully apparent I was watching a dead man walking. The cockiness from all his other years at King's Crest evaporated in the burning sunlight of his future. I think a few of the boys noticed this too, I heard a few different versions of "your send-off party will grind this gathering into the dirt." So many of them talked about a riotous drunken affair in Aldeburgh the night of Reg's graduation, the night before he would be dragged back to his family.

Reg raised a toast at the end of the night:

"To all you crazy bastards, I don't know why the fuck I deal with you all but I savor every minute of it."

At the end of the night he dismissed all of us, no one lingered. There were only polite bows with a few slaps on the shoulder even from those he bedded on a regular basis. We passed a glance between us as I left, I wasn't interested in much more. Perhaps I imagined he was gone already.

Three days before graduation, I woke to find an envelope under my door; nice parchment folded on itself with no seal. I opened it to see familiar flowing handwriting.

_Grell,_

_I wanted to have some time alone with you before graduation, but in a much more pleasant environment than this. There is a beach a few hundred yards from the main path to Aldeburgh. You can see it over the horizon, it is a small clearing with some dunes and some rock outcroppings. There is a small path through the brush that leads there. I assure you we will have complete privacy after dark, no one even sees that area let alone peeks behind the rocks. Please meet me there on Thursday, the night before graduation, around 9 o'clock. Do not tell anyone else you that either of us will be here, look casual._

_-Reginald_

My heart leapt in joy for a moment; he wanted to meet me this privately. The moment faded with some measure of concern; why were we going to be so far removed? Perhaps he wanted a quiet, romantic evening by the surf, but then since when was Reginald that romantic? I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, though Reginald never gave extravagant gifts freely unless he had something to gain from it…or someone to punish. He was a master at serving gifts that could destroy people.

I knew of the place he spoke; it blends into the dark though one can see the bend and the overlook from the horizon on a moonlit night. There were ways to get down there, I had seen some clearings through the brush. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the remoteness of the area; yes we would have privacy but the thought floated through my mind that no one could hear any screaming. Then again anyone could go down there if they were so inclined and see us rolling naked on the beach, though once again I needed to give Reg more credit.

He was planning something, whether it was a romantic evening or something else I didn't know. It could have been anything with him. The thought was enough for me to search a little through my effects whilst packing. Sure enough I found the sheathed hunting knife in a small bag I packed with me should I be in need of a multi-purpose cutting tool.

Don't ask me why I thought to bring it, something in the back of my mind told me it would be a good idea. I would simply place it in the inner pocket of my coat; he wouldn't notice it and it was easily reachable should the occasion present itself.


	10. Part 10

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Author's Note**: Chapters 9 and 10 came out at the same time. I just wanted to make sure people read chapter 9 before checking out this chapter.

**Part 10**

In terms of keeping our little rendezvous a secret, that would be little issue. Student merrymaking tended to be sporadic the night before graduation. The graduating students had to be up bright and early for the big moment. The day before was the last day of finals and many of the students whose respective manses were closer to the school typically shoved off during the day. The rest of us would be picked up either after the ceremony or the day after. The night of graduation was the drunken feast; he final toast to the graduates and the last toast to King's Crest before being dragged back. Hardly anyone would be out the night before graduation.

Reggie said a servant was picking him up the day after graduation; father was too busy of course. The lads had been planning one last big fete for Reggie the night after he was given his certificate and was herded off to daddy and the future wife. No one batted an eye when he said at dinner that he had to turn in early and wouldn't be going to Aldeburgh the night before. Such was a similar answer with a few other lads, there were a few other answers ranging from "Wouldn't miss it" to "I might be along after taking care of a few things."

The latter was my answer; "I've got to sort my baggage, but I'll be along later."

I counted down the hours until that last meeting, a feeling of excitement and dread filling my heart. It was merely the feeling that fate would come to fruition in some form that night. Dinner was nigh on torture, I noticed Reg pushed around the potatoes on his plate like a finicky child. He spoke little though no one questioned why; the usual promises of a grand feast the next evening spoke loud and clear that everyone recognized his nerves. His manner just felt off to me, but perhaps that was because I was also on edge. I wasn't receiving the same sideways glances that Reg was, I was more able in managing my worry and put on a smiling face over it.

We all parted around 7, I believe it was Thad who commented that this was the last normal school dinner Reg would have with us. Everyone patted him on the back and he merely smiled. This wasn't the last dinner, thus said a few reassuring murmurs around the group. I swore I saw Reg give the lot of us a lingering look as he left for his room.

There were a few more chats and a few more wanderings on my part, though I endeavored to be back at my room around 7 to work on my packing; there was some truth to my story after all. Naturally many students waited until the day they were picked up to have a servant do the job, others threw a few pounds to a member of the house staff to do it. Some just liked to have something to fiddle with before leaving or were particular about how their effects should be sorted and did it themselves; such was my case.

Around 8:30 I placed one last article in my trunk, then I went to another trunk and fetched my knife. I carefully placed it in the pocket of my spring coat; my coat would probably be the first thing torn off if what I assumed would happen did. That way if something else followed, I could easily reach into the pocket in a moment.

I subtly left for the path around 8:45. As expected I was alone, everyone was either at their end destination or would be leaving later. Curfew had been lifted for those last two evenings and everyone was going to take advantage of it by leaving for the pubs later. I decided to follow an alternate route to the main path; a winding way down a hill that was located through the brush. At last I was at the bend and looking over the ocean, finding the path from the main road that lead down to the beach. This was a bit more pleasant; a few bushes on the sides though the earth was a bit clearer, a strip of sand lined by grass.

I found myself at the bottom of the hill, though I had to walk around a small ledge a bit further down to my destination. I walked behind the rocks, carefully watching my surroundings to make sure I was not being followed. A wide expanse of sea and sand was open before me; the nearly-full moon high in the clear sky and illuminating everything around us. What a beautiful place.

I carefully walked onto the beach, not seeing Reg at first though I looked around with a bit more care. At last I walked out to the end of the beach, finally seeing a human outline leaning against a rock outcropping. I continued my approach and clearly saw Lord Kirkney leaning against the rock with his arms crossed, his eyes were barely visible but I knew they were planted right on me. His expression was blank but I saw a faint smirk. I looked down and saw he was in his shirtsleeves with no waistcoat; the top buttons undone and his toned chest peeking out. His hair was already down; those beautiful ringlets tumbling over his broad shoulders.

"You asked for an audience with me, my lord?" I said.

He simply gazed at me for a moment, then his arms flung out and grabbed me by the shoulders, locking me into a rough kiss. I gleefully took part, feeling my jacket ripped off and thrown to the sand. He yanked me around and shoved me against the rock, grabbing my hair hard enough to slip the ribbon off and pressing the back of my head into the crags; oh how it ached. Those nimble fingers undid my buttons and I soon felt my arms pulled back and the garment ripped from them.

His strong hands were everywhere; I trembled at the feel of those tough calluses contrasting with his soft skin. I remembered opening my eyes to take another look around us; nobody was there, I did see the shape of Reg's coat a few meters away lying on the sand like a flat corpse. My attention was brought back forward when I felt my trousers being peeled off me, I looked back over to see Reg's hand on his own button. I managed to pry my arms away for a moment to finish unbuttoning his shirt. He then ripped the garment off and threw it down like it was a bother.

I felt completely lost in the moment. The voice of warning in my mind beckoned me to keep a watch, who knew what he had planned? I kept my vigilance and gave into the bliss of the moment.

Then he took me; he took me right there against that wall, positioning his body in the perfect way and slamming me repeatedly against the rocks. I felt my skin chafe against the surface, I would surely be bleeding. It just made me even more hot; I savored his roughness, his kisses, his grunts, just the very feel of him. My mind was blank to any other thought but the moment.

I savored all of him to the orchestra of the surf and the chorus of seagulls; the ocean wind blowing those soft ringlets around me. The smell of salt mingled with his musk in a fragrant bouquet of masculinity. I could only think that I was experiencing the greatest moment of my life.

I released first, though still remained in bliss as he continued, his thrusts aggressive, his hands more forceful against my body. He let out a few long, hard grunts and then released; I felt so invigorated. He pulled out and stepped back. I felt my knees give out and gently lowered myself to the sand, my bare, sensitive bottom against the soft sand. I lay back against the wall and paused to let my ears stop ringing and the stars clear from my vision.

Reg walked away from me without a glance, he bent down and collected his shirt in one hand and then walked a path straight for the water. I took a few more breaths as I watched him drop the shirt in the sand and bend down to take some water. It appeared he was cleaning himself off before refastening his trousers. Reg stopped, staring at the ocean for a little while. I watched him curiously as my senses slowly returned. He stood still as a statue, though I saw his fists clenching at his side.

I gradually came to my feet; my legs still wobbling, but soon finding footing. Reg remained in his position for a few more minutes. Perhaps he was admiring the majesty of the ocean, though his gait was stiff. This was not a man immersed in the moment. I slowly collected my trousers, not putting them back on without a care about my own state of uncleanliness.

I kept an eye on Reg, gradually feeling for my jacket and the hard object in the pocket. I covered my hand with the fabric as I removed the knife, transitioning it easily into the side of my trousers. I felt the hilt pressing against my hipbone and tucked the sheath's leather loop further under my waistband; I knew the blade was secure in its position though I would have to keep half a hand on it. I looked down and made sure there was no bulge, the knife disappeared nicely.

My timing was perfect, as Reg then turned back around and walked a few more steps back in my direction with his shirt again in his hand. He wasn't looking at me though; his purpose was set solely on his coat lying in the dry sand. He positioned his shirt in one arm and bent down to pick up the coat. He grabbed the shoulders and then folded the garment neatly in half, then gently laying it on the sand. My eyebrows furrowed as I watched him do the same with his shirt and lay it on top of the coat. What the hell was he about?

I saw his gaze then focus on me, his expression soft; unlike any I had ever seen from Reg Kirkney. I took a few cautious steps forward, seeing him smile and look out at the ocean for a moment. My pace slightly quickened and continued until I was a couple meters from him.

Reg faced me and then slowly lowered himself to his knees, settling to a sit on his legs. I gave a dirty chuckle despite the chill running through my skin. I nearly thanked him for getting down on his knees to give me a going away present, though the somber look on his face made me hold my tongue.

"I want to thank you for this evening, Grell," he said, his voice tense.

"The pleasure was all mine," I said with a smirk and a small bow.

He smiled in return.

"Do you know why I asked you out here tonight?" he said.

I was a little lost for words at this question.

"I asked you out here because I wanted to spend this last night with you and you alone," Reg said. "Of all the eight years I've been here, of all of the people who've gravitated around me, you alone have been a true friend."

I smirked a little wider at this one. On one hand I was deeply flattered, honored even; the golden boy anointed me of all his followers. On the other hand I wondered after all we had been through what his definition of a "true friend" actually was.

"How long has it been Grell, six months since we first really met? Perhaps closer to seven," Reg continued.

I nodded.

"This short time has been filled with so much," I said.

Reg smiled and gave an enthusiastic nod.

"That it has, and I wouldn't trade any of it in for the world," he said.

I found it interesting how he looked at such strife and violence so wistfully. If he started languidly reminiscing about the night he forced himself on me, his blood would spill for it.

"You were amazing tonight," he said. "I believe this has been the best of night my life, and I am thankful to have shared it with you, Grell Sutcliff."

I smiled and bowed again, though my heart pounded. None of this felt right.

"I want you to savor this last year at King's Crest," he said. "You are an intelligent, witty man; you have so much promise. You will become a man of success, I know that; whether your brothers show you that path or you find it for yourself, this I do see."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw his fingers gently tapping against his black coat. I didn't look down though minded this position. It was a nervous gesture, though I saw his fingers creeping more to one area of his jacket.

"You have opportunities I never had," he said. "You will have a happy life."

"You look a little too bleakly on your own situation, Reg," I said with a nervous laugh. "God knows you're going to be netting in the pounds."

He simply looked at me with a calm smile, his hand creeping further into his coat.

"There is no future," he said.

Reg's hand shot up. The moonlight reflected off the brass flintlock and barrel, illuminating the walnut stock. I drew in a sharp gasp, my body readying itself for flight until I saw the tip of the barrel embedded into the thick hair on the side of Reg's head. His hand held the grip firmly, though the pistol betrayed a bit of a shake. His index finger leaned against the trigger guard, his thumb poised on the hammer.

My breath was coming in painful pants, my jaw frozen open for a second.

"Reg…bloody…hell Reg," was all I could say. "What the fuck are you doing!"

"Embracing an alternative," he said, his voice tense but chillingly even.

I then realized he held an envelope in his other hand, he tossed it on the ground.

"My door is unlocked and there is another envelope on the bed," he said. "Both contain the same letter; they will know to find me here."

"What is fucking wrong with you," I managed to gasp out.

"We've had this conversation before, Grell, you know why this has to happen."

"I gave you a bloody alternative, I presented for you a case…"

"…That would never work and I told you such. I hoped you realized this before, but you apparently need it spelled out for you, poor naïve soul. No one is my salvation, no one can be relied upon, everyone is flawed. Any other option would just lead back to this one; your little plan to free me still involves slavery and you know you can never break me out of it."

"What about making your own future, Reg! What about taking the paths shown! Weren't you just going on about all that to me? How in blazes do you know that I'm not just as trapped?"

"If you want to join me, Grell, say the word."

He took the pistol away from his head and pointed it at me. I was surprised how calmly I looked at that barrel, how I just noticed his hand trembling and hit finger far away from the trigger. I shook my head, not trying to hide the tears welling from my eyes. He shrugged and put the barrel back at his own head.

"Why did you bring me out here?" I said, my throat practically closing in.

"Because I wanted you to know the truth," he said, his own voice starting to waver. "I wanted you to be with me in my final moments. Grell Sutcliff, my dear friend. Should you leave now or choose to watch, that is your business. Tell no one you were here; you would only be implicated."

"Such a dear friend to put me in this bleeding position," I said past the threat of sobs. "You selfish twat! You say you care for me so much; care for me enough to share blowing your head off. Well here's another bit of confidence; I love you, Reginald Kirkney! I love you so much it tears me apart!"

The pistol shook harder, his lower lip trembled.

"I love you with a deep crimson passion, I have wanted nothing more than to have you all for me! I don't give a damn about sharing, but I don't want to lose you!"

Yes, I don't want to lose you; I don't want to lose this boastful little boy who is now showing his true cowardly colors. My own words dug into me.

"We can be together, get over your own ego and your own expectations and just listen to me," a part of me didn't know why I was still talking. The words were just coming from my numb brain. "If you didn't like my plan, fine we'll find a new one together. Anything is better than this."

Though this was his genius solution. Reg already came up with his own brilliant plan for his life.

Reg stared at me, sweat poured from his brow though that was clearly not sweat slowly dripping from his eyes. He looked like he was trying to form words though his trembling was keeping him from that.

"You love me?" he said in a choking whisper.

"I love you," I said, my mind already correcting myself to past tense.

His hand shook harder, finger moving away from the trigger and onto the grip. It looked as if he would drop the pistol entirely. I dared take a few more steps closer, Reg didn't move.

"I care about you so very much Reg," I said. "I will remain here in your final moments if you so choose, but put down that pistol and I will remain with you forever."

His eyes locked with mine, those gorgeous blue-gray irises set on a background of red. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and I saw a hint of snot coming from his nose. Dear God did he look pathetic; just another mewling little boy.

"No one has ever told me they love me," he whispered. "No one has ever loved me; everyone just shoved me aside, pitted me against others, fondled me, curried favor with me, clawed at each other for the privilege to be around me, but no one has ever loved me. I…I'm not worthy of it. I am a worthless little gilded bird."

"And I am nothing more than a bloody red doll to everyone, but you don't see me ready to end it," I said. "Because I know there is something greater than where we are now. There is always an alternative."

But what alternatives existed for poor little Reggie? The majestic, arrogant eagle was now a broken little bird. Birds this broken were beyond mending; they just needed to be put out of their misery.

I slowly reached my hand down and gently patted his head, running my fingers through his hair. Reg let out a few whimpers, his grip on the pistol loosening. My hand slowly crept over and gently folded around the barrel. I then yanked it, readying myself for immense pain though I only felt Reg's hand loosen and saw the pistol raised up in my hand. I gently tossed it onto the sand and it fell a few meters away with a gentle thud. Reg buried his face against my chest and sobbed, his hands practically pawing at my abdomen like a desperate puppy.

I gently cradled his head, savoring the feel of those curly locks through my fingers. He would probably notice the shape of the knife at this angle, it was better under the circumstances for me to slowly come behind him. I pried myself away from him, though one arm rested on his shoulder as I swiveled around. I came to a crouch behind him, my left arm embracing his body. He then buried his face in the crook of my arm, drenching it in tears. I leaned against him, feeling him trembling back against me. I nuzzled my nose against his cheek, feeling his smooth skin and inhaling his aroma.

I wanted to savor as much of him as I could in this one moment; it was a moment that I couldn't allow to linger. The spell had been broken, I couldn't allow it to take hold again. I needed to purge it, I needed to put an end to all of this nonsense and do what was best for the both of us. He chose his path, I had to choose mine. My right hand slowly moved into position.

"My darling Reginald," I whispered in his ear. "I have loved you with a passionate fire. I will always treasure this."

He leaned in further when my right arm embraced him, his hand clutching both my arms. I allowed the embrace for a few seconds but not longer. My arm jerked upward, my hand taking a strong grip on the handle of the knife. My left arm slightly dropped down as the blade swiped for his throat. I felt the edge press through his skin, going deep through tendons and blood vessels and then slice through the thick cartilage of his windpipe. Reg didn't have the opportunity to scream, I just heard airy gurgles amid the sucking spray of blood.

I pushed him forward and jumped to my feet, taking a step back to avoid the spray letting loose in front of him. His hands flung to his throat and were drenched in thick red. I walked around him to face him up front, seeing those beautiful eyes lock on me in panicked confusion. I merely looked down at him, watching the blood erupt over that chiseled body like watching a fountain emerge from a marble statue of a Roman god. The slice in his throat wheezed like the air escaping a pipe organ.

His knees started to fail him, though he remained poised in his position for the time being. What a work of art he was; I never saw him so beautiful. I just wanted to gaze at him, savor this moment before it ended. Reg just stared at me, blood gushing from his mouth. Those bloody lips formed the shape of my name.

"I will leave you to your chosen future," I said. "Good night, sweet prince."

Reg fell forward onto his stomach, the blood flowing across the sand but a bit slower. All around him was just a ring of red mud. He twitched a few times, his back rising and falling with violent attempts to breathe though the blood loss slowly stilled his movements. I took a few more steps back, watching Reginald Kirkney's body still. I could see the life draining from him, savored the stilling of his muscles. I was watching him die.

I wondered for a moment if I could see the Grim Reaper over him, though it was a passing thought. Death was always silent, hidden. No matter how violent or peaceful the death, the end result was always silence.

Reg's body stilled, his form settling into the muddy ground. His back heaved no more, his red-soaked fingers gently rested in the sand.

"May you find a proper place in the afterlife, my darling," I whispered reverently.

The sea breeze tossed my hair around, all I heard were the waves against the shore. For a moment I had a sense of pure peace, though I felt the threatening surge of panic like the first sways of a tidal wave threatening a sea wall. This wasn't as subtle as Danny Benton's death; a body lay before me soaked in blood and here was I with the bloody dagger in my hand. It was not an irresolvable situation, though it would require some creativity.

If Reg was speaking the truth, the envelope in the sand that now bore a few splashes of blood contained a suicide note; as did the alleged one on his bed. It was clear Reg planned this out, in fact it struck me that he was likely planning this out the entire year perhaps even before then. He had no intentions of leaving here alive, so it wouldn't exactly be a surprise if he were found dead. I credit Lady Macbeth for what I did next.

I walked closer to Reg, making sure I left no footprints in the blood pool. I found a clean patch of sand and literally leaned over to take his hand. His skin was still warm, though every muscle and tendon was still. He was like a statue of flesh; a gorgeously crafted doll. I carefully placed the knife in his hand an closed his fingers around it. I then moved it a little over a few remaining drips from his neck. I took a brief look through his hair at his face; one side of his face was buried in the sand, the other side was bone white. I saw an open eye and the glint of a tear that had streamed down his face.

I didn't allow myself to linger, I merely put his hand to his side to look as if he cut his own throat. I quickly moved away from his body, taking a second look to make sure I had not stepped in any blood. I reached in my trousers and took out the sheathe of the knife, tossing it a certain distance to look as if he tossed it before using it. The thought did go through my mind if anyone could trace that knife back to me. I made the conclusion such was safely not the case; it was an average hunting knife I found in a storage shed. Anyone would have picked it up; Reg could have plausibly procured it anywhere to do the deed.

I stepped back and looked at the scene. Reg lay prone, a bloody knife in his bloody hand. I examined the positioning a little more carefully to make sure it truly looked believable; a sculptor examining his carved icon for flaws or a chef looking over his plate to see if it needed anything more. I was sufficiently satisfied with my work and moved onto the next stage.

I walked over to the pistol lying in the sand and carefully picked it up. I wasn't fond of pistols let alone understand their specifics and nuances, though it was clear this one cost quite a bit of money. The wood and brass were flawless and I saw a few brass filigrees in embedded in the grip. I didn't know how to check for a ball in the chamber, though I was sure it was loaded; it had a heft to it I didn't imagine an empty pistol would have.

I walked to a side of the beach, constantly looking around to make sure this was all going unwitnessed. No one was around, that I was sure of. Every rustle of brush and shifting of sand had me jumping, though I took a few more deep breaths to try to calm myself. I returned to the area where Reg and I made love for the last time, I could practically feel the warmth emanating from the rock and smell the aroma of a passionate moment. I gazed out at the water, savoring the blackness.

I was in an area of pure dark beauty; what awaited me when I left it? Would I be found out, whether immediately or in the span of years? Would it be obvious that Reginald was slain? Would I be arrested the moment I walked off this beach, would I be thrown in a cell, would I be hanged? I suddenly realized that prospect didn't scare me. If it was meant to happen I would embrace my fate. I would greet the Reaper like an old friend; pat him on his bony shoulder and tell him I looked forward to what awaited me, even if my eternity lie in Hell.

I looked down at the pistol again and back at the ocean. This moment didn't have to end. What would await me when I left? If I wasn't arrested, if I were truly allowed to get away with this, what would happen after this? I would return to school, I would return to the way things were. I had readied myself for a last year at King's Crest with no Reg, though the circumstances now were far, far different; though how different?

Had I truly readied myself to deal with the pack of wolves known as my mates? Did I truly understand what Reg's absence would mean? No, I had been a love-struck little girl all term. I worried more about Reg loving me than I worried about his absence. I kicked myself at the thought. All those parties, all those group sessions, all the rumors, all the sniping and preening. And all this time Reg was planning on snuffing himself; and all this time Reg likely wanted me to witness it. And all this time that bastard wanted me to live with that and get thrown back to the pack next year; that son of a filthy whore. How could I have been so stupid?

The dying embers of my conscience tried to whisper in my mind like smoke; Reg let go of the pistol. Reg broke down at the last moment. No matter how long he had planned it, no matter how ready he was, he wavered in that last moment. Reg could still be alive no, your friend could still be alive now. Both of you could be walking back to school together, but that cannot happen now. Reg is dead because he was murdered, Reg is dead because you murdered him. This could all have been avoided.

I didn't allow myself to ponder all the words floating through my head. How did I know Reg wouldn't have done it anyway? How do I know he wouldn't have done it again the moment he came to his senses or after he returned home from graduation or on his wedding night? No, we all have our designated time; tonight was Reg's whether he did the deed or I did. Perhaps I knew what time the Reaper would come for him; perhaps I was meant to be the one to reap him. I was the one who released his soul; perhaps the Grim Reaper takes any appropriate form. I felt important in a way.

I looked at the pistol again, the image floating through my mind of Reg kneeling in the sand, the barrel embedded in the curls of his hair. No matter how long he had been planning it, no matter how many preparations he made, was he prepared for that final moment? My gaze turned to the sea again; I could see the ripples of waves under the moonlight. My wrist twitched briefly; I imagined the pistol raised to my head. I left no note, though the explanation was already lying in a bloody heap in the sand. Whether they suspected I did anything or not would be a moot point. I would escape the suspicion, the aftermath, my whole uncertain future. It would end here.

I held the pistol in my hand, eyes fixed on the sea, waiting for the moment when my brain would decide to go through with it…or rather come to its senses. The latter was setting in a bit more. Did I really want to die in such a simple way? Who was I to say when my time was up? It seemed arrogant of me, no it was cowardly. It was a coward's end; even more fitting for Reginald Kirkney. He lived such a haughty man, he died a mewling coward.

My arm cast out, hurling the pistol as far out as I could. I heard a splash in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief. The pistol was gone. As far as anyone was concerned now Reg's death was how he intended it. It was possible that he said in that note he would shoot himself, though his use of a knife might not have been challenged; what happened if he lost the pistol or if someone took it from him. The note was already written, what did it matter if he took a different course?

I looked back down at myself; my hands were covered in blood, there were a few splashes on my arms. I leaned down into the water and washed them, watching the black water take the tinge of red. The spot would remain; all the perfumes of Arabia would not sweeten these little hands. I smiled at the thought, putting a hand to my nose. The smell of blood still, though I felt my hand was still sweet. I was more willful than Lady Macbeth; perhaps I as a lady made of tougher stuff.

I shook off the water, then picked my shirt back up and put it on. My coat followed, soon I looked as I had when first arriving. I picked my ribbon out of the sand but put it in my pocket. I didn't bother tying my hair back; there was little need to look respectable now. I leaned against the ledge and dusted the sand off my stockings before putting my shoes back on. I would have to pack these somewhere when I got home, when they found Reg's body they would just need to look for whoever had sand in their shoes or stockings. The thought briefly flashed through my mind of my eight-year-old self washing the blood off my feet after father went berserk. No, this was different, I was much more in control.

My main instinct now was to get out of there as soon as possible. I walked around and took one more careful look to make sure everything was in place. Reg wasn't moving from where he was and everything remained as pristine as I had placed it. Then again I realized I cared little if anyone suspected anything.

At last I walked away, finding the path from which I came. I moved swiftly yet carefully, regularly pausing to listen for any talking or rustling feet. I occasionally heard some passing conversations and ducked into the brush, not moving and hearing the students pass by without noticing anything. At last I reached the main path and paused for a few minutes to make sure no one else was there. I heard nothing; no footsteps, no talking, nothing. I made sure to listen for anything in the distance as well. Three minutes passed and I knew I had my opportunity. I walked back onto the path where I was completely alone. Going to Aldeburgh would be immensely risky; if anyone suspected anything when Reg was found, I would have been in the area with no alibi. Instead I walked back to school. I would tell the lads later I was packing and wanted an early night.

No one was out at the moment; as suspected, all the students were either at the pub already or staying in. I walked into the building unnoticed, I passed a couple gents in the hallway but all of us were merely passing along. Anyone out was dressed a little more casually as well, I looked like one of the rest. I reached my room uneventfully and did indeed tidy some of my things, my mind falling solely to the task at hand.

At last drowsiness took me and I settled into bed, not giving a thought to how I would be able to sleep. I actually slept peacefully that night.


	11. Part 11

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 11**

Beams of white light crept past the cracks in my curtains and settled on my face. My eyes opened, taking a look around my room. My head ached, every muscle stayed glued to the mattress.

At that moment the thought coursed through my skull like a musket ball: Reg is gone.

I will not be greeting him the moment I set foot in the dining hall, there will be no more late night parties, no moments of passion. I will never hear that cold, soothing voice again; I will never feel his warm hands on me. That pretty face is caked in dried blood, that chiseled form is blue and stiff by now, gorgeous eyes now likely clouded over though perpetually visible.

The heaviness settled in my chest and my breathing was a harsh act. I lost him; I shut out the thought that I was the one to cast him away. That aspect didn't bother me as much, or rather I did not want to think on such things. He chose his fate. I felt more betrayed than anything, how dare that little bastard present himself to me falsely.

That was my deepest wound, the unkindest cut: I had been lied to. My sleepy mind satisfied itself with those few thoughts: the bounder deserved everything I gave him.

My eyes wandered to the wall, then to the mahogany clock hanging from it: 20 past 8. Graduation was scheduled for 10, the graduates were to be in the chapel at 8 sharp for their final exercises before the grand parade. Five minutes late was still considered fashionable, 10 minutes was borderline acceptable, 15 minutes was pushing the boundaries, 20 was close to noticeable. They would know something was amiss if Reg was half an hour late. They would likely start looking for him by then; starting at his room.

They would check the door if they were wise, though they would likely leave after one unanswered knock and set out a party to ask around for him. No one had the stones to open the door of any student unless there was great cause: wouldn't want to intrude into his lordship's privacy after all. By 9 they would certainly have to try the door and get into the room to check on his well being. They would find the note then, a search party would take another half hour maybe more to find him, I saw another 20 to fetch the Aldeburgh constable, another hour at the scene. Reg's death would be all over campus by the scheduled graduation time. It was likely they would move up the time for the ceremony or postpone it for a later day, or perhaps they would go on without him and leave no explanation as to why.

Now was the time to get into the character of a normal young man on any day who learns his close friend has gone to his grave under most tragic circumstances. I would have to craft my lines, compose my responses to basic cues such as "where were you last night," "did he have any enemies," and "were you aware he was capable of taking his own life?" This would be a touchy audience: police, schoolmasters, my hungry peers. I had faith in my own abilities; I had never taken a stage, yet I had played many convincing roles in my short years.

I laid back in bed and watched the arms of the clock turn more. When they fell on 8:30, I knew this was the best time for me to get up and present myself to the world. My mates would probably be gathering in the dining hall for some breakfast before the ceremony. If I was a little late, it would look more as if I fell asleep instead of going to Aldeburgh. I waited another five minutes and then got up an took my time getting dressed. I put on a lovely dark blue jacket and a maroon waistcoat with a floral pattern, dressing properly festive to go to my friend's graduation.

I left my room a little past 9, carefully striding through the hallway and constantly looking over my shoulder for someone eyeing me or following me. I merely passed a few of my classmates with little greeting or a few nods with a "good day." I heard nothing in the hallway; no one twittering or whispering other than the usual side conversations amongst those passing through. I heard a lot of talk about graduation, some about summer plans, some about girls and family and the lovely weather we'd been having. By the time I did reach the dining hall I was sure the news was not out, though I figured that was because everyone else was finding it out.

I pondered the possibility that Reg would never be found, that no one would look for him when he failed to show for rehearsal, that he would be chastised behind his dead back for not showing up, that his family would figure he ran away and not care, and his body would lie on that beach forever to rot and provide a tasty meal for the fish. I admit deep down I hoped such would not be the case; Reg deserved love in death if he had not gotten it in life. Then again there were so many people who had so much to gain by his presence that they would investigate his absence.

I entered the dining hall and got immediately into character. A few of the lads were enjoying some scones and eggs with wine and turned back to greet me per usual.

"You didn't miss much last night," Alex Hammond said sipping his coffee. "Hardly anyone was out and they were all on their best behavior."

"I'm glad I fell asleep then," I said, pouring myself a glass of wine. "I was knackered last night, nearly used my trunk as a pillow."

"This is why you throw a few pounds to one of the house boys to do that bloody work for you," Colin Renwick said.

"And entrust his precious wardrobe to the rough hands of a servant?" Alex said with a snicker. "'Wrinkle that silk stocking and I'll claw you.'"

I coughed a little on my claret and went into a fit of chortles.

"And I wouldn't want to risk having to spill someone's blood on my nice fabrics," I said. "Might as well pack them myself or risk ruining them."

The following laughs at my expense were music to my ears. I later got myself some eggs and toast and actually had a cup of tea in place of wine. We sat and bantered over our respective breakfasts. I remained casual whenever talk started of Reg on his big day.

"Am I the only one who can see the poor lout pissing himself," I said between bites of toast.

"In the classiest of ways of course," Nigel Ferrell said with a laugh. "Taking full advantage of those ugly robes."

I lost track of time entirely until someone pointed at their watch and made mention of having to be on our way soon. It was 9:40; I was proud of myself that I made no mental calculation as to how long to took before word got around. We were finishing our respective breakfasts in anticipation of getting there for good seats. A few words were exchanged about how Reg knew us showing up late for his graduation would be so typical.

A few minutes later, just as we were halfway rising to be on our way, a number of students casually wandered into the dining hall; all graduating students. I looked as puzzled as the rest of my group to see these young men in their finery without robes queuing up to the kitchen for pints and snacks. I listened to some of the conversations among them.

"This beats a stuffy room."

"I should get nice and drunk before father gets here and starts a row."

"This is rubbish, I could have slept in."

Almost as soon as I heard these comments, I heard a few under the breath mutters of "Bloody bastard," "Just what is wrong with him," "He better not have slept in." I looked as puzzled as my mates, stuffing away my knowledge of what this was about. I did notice a few eyes trailing over me and everyone else at our table; everyone eying us curiously but not saying anything. A few looked almost ready to approach, but their path moved away.

Is this how everyone on the outside viewed us? Did everyone bear us contempt, or were they afraid of us? I had been on the inside spitting out all term when I used to be on the outside just until late last year. I used to have friends on the outside, now I just ignored everyone else. It was an interesting look around my safe little surroundings. How long would they say safe with Reg gone?

I tried not to make eye contact with anyone or watch anyone; I was the only one on alert for obvious reasons. I simply looked around and sipped my tea with the rest of my mates.

I paid attention to one student Alestair Brigsby, I knew him from the cricket team,

approaching a few others at a table, his friends looking perplexed.

"Have some more pudding, you've got time," Aleister said.

"What's going on," one of his friends said, someone who's name escapes me now.

"They postponed graduation until 1, didn't really say why," he said, the tone of his voice suddenly dropping down, "but one lout never showed up."

I pulled myself away from the conversation. No one else was paying any attention, if I looked interested it would only make me look suspicious later. I only allowed myself to hear whispers, though the name "Reggie Kirkney" was a little hard to miss.

Amidst the casual file of would-be graduates, Marcus Randolf then entered the hall. He had the title of prefect until the end of graduation and the housemaster was squeezing out every opportunity judging by the nigh lock step charge he made for our table. I knew what this was about, but merely looked down to stir the sugar in my tea while keeping him in the corner of my eye.

He was now standing right at our table looking at all four of us, impossible to ignore by this point. All eyes gradually turned up to him as he leaned down over all of us.

"Gentlemen, the headmaster wishes to speak to you all immediately," he said in a low tone.

I put on my mask of confusion and took one more sip of my tea.

"What's this about?" I said.

"Just follow me quietly, he said it's urgent," Marcus said, the sweat beading on his brow.

We looked at each other and all of us slowly rose. I tried not to take a look around the room, but I felt a dozen eyes burning through us. Marcus led us out of the room into the hallway. A few more graduates were lingering around, though the eyes were off us now. I could only hear the twittering in the other room. The lads and I just exchanged puzzled glances and kept following him. No one said anything, everything was just unfolding at once.

A minute or so later we were in the main building and passing by all of the fancy, official looking doorways. No students were in this end, only staff and teachers, it was like passing into another reality. At last we reached the large door with carved vines. Marcus rapped on it lightly.

"It's Randolf," he said.

A voice on the other end said "Come in."

Marcus opened the door and led the four of us inside. After a few steps my gaze immediately met with that of Thad, who was sitting down in a chair next to Victor. Miguel was standing in the corner, James and Tom against the wall. All of us looked at each other with puzzled if not worried expressions.

I looked ahead and saw Headmaster Morris sitting at his desk, knobby hands folded against his chin and looking up once before looking back down at the desk. A man stood behind him; a somewhat portly man with a scruffy gray beard, his attire a blue uniform lined with brass buttons and he held a tricorne against his bloated belly. I looked at him curiously as we all were now; his attire practically announced himself as a constable.

"Randolf you're dismissed," Master Morris said.

"Yes sir," Marcus said, bowing and walking out the door.

"Make sure the door's closed," Master Morris said.

Marcus nodded his head nervously and practically slammed the door.

I leaned against the back wall next to James, the other three taking positions along the side. All of us looked at each other before our gazes focused up front. Master Morris rested his elbows on the desk and locked his fingers together, still not saying anything. The rest of us shifted uncomfortably, looking at each other and then back up front. No one dared say anything.

"Do any of you gentlemen know why I have asked you to be here this morning," the headmaster said.

We looked at each other again, each of us shaking our heads, I was one of the few who added a "No, sir."

"All of you are friends with a young man named Reginald Kirkney, if I'm not mistaken," the man said, his rougher speech providing an interesting contrast to the surroundings.

All eyes locked up front, I heard heavier breaths all around me. I was completely in character; the spirited young man who had this nasty privilege to be in the headmaster's office with my mates surrounded by something unknown.

"Gentlemen, this is Constable Cooper of the village of Aldeburgh," the headmaster said.

The intakes of breath were like an ocean swell in the room.

"Beg pardon, sir, but what's going on?" Thad said, his tone exasperated. A few boys added some grunts in agreement.

The headmaster sighed hard and rested his chin on his folded hands.

"It pains me to be the bearer of such news," he said. "Especially on what was supposed to be a happy occasion."

He paused for another few seconds and sighed again.

"I am very sorry to tell you gentlemen this," he said. "Your friend Reginald Kirkney is dead."

The word hit me like a punch to the stomach. I heard the gasps and cries in response but just curled up in myself. I truly felt as one who had heard the news for the first time; a little self-convincing goes a long way. I managed to pull my head from my chest to see wide eyes and contorted mouths all over, so many repetitions of "How," "What," "It can't be."

"His body was found surrounded by water on a sand bar a ways down from the path," the headmaster continued.

The bloody tide came in, why didn't I think of that before? Fortunately it wasn't enough to sweep his corpse away, only give him a little briny bath. It meant the other note and the sheathe was probably lost, most of the blood likely washed away too. It meant my efforts to place things were for naught, though it also meant there would be no footprints or blood spatters to follow in a pattern. All of the evidence was washed clean off; the damn spot was out in this sense. I simply kept my horrified expression and remained looking forward.

"We only found him after we found this."

Master Morris lifted an envelope from the desk. The seal had naturally been broken; he opened it up and adjusted the spectacles on his nose before reading it out loud.

"To everyone who has ever known me,

By the time you find this note, I will be gone from this earth. I will not be taking part in the gilded ceremony parading all of us to our own respective futures. There is no future for me, there is only a series of duties and plans made for me over which I have had no control nor say. Such has been the case with my entire life, but I am doing something to take control. Nothing else exists for me but the moment; it is my own and I will savor it as long as it lasts. At the appointed time I will have the decency to choose my own destiny and not follow along with what is expected of me. I have nothing aside from this and I will claim what is mine; no one else shall have me.

The place of my final moments shall be a small beach located through the brush down the path, halfway between the school and the village. My blood will bathe the sand, for it is better there; 'Dust thou art, to dust returnest.' I regret if anyone has actually wasted emotions on me, but if you truly pity me respect what path I have chosen. I do not fear the next life, I embrace what will come before me.

To all, my fondest farewells.

Sincerely,

Reginald Bertram George Kirkney."

The room was plunged into silence, barely anyone breathed.

"He did not show up for graduation rehearsal, so a few staff members were sent looking for him," the headmaster said. "We found his door unlocked and this note was on the bed."

"Before you start gettin' too curious, the handwriting on the note was the exact same as on some of his school papers," the constable said. "As we said, he was located on the small patch of beach surrounded by the tide. We think he'd been lyin' there all night, judgin' by the condition of his body. His throat was cut and his fingers were frozen around a good-sized knife."

The constable took a few steps forward, all eyes locked on him.

"Did any o' you lads know he was going to do this," he said. "Did he say anythin' to any of you?"

I leaned against the wall and rested my forehead in my hand. The room was silent save for some heavy breaths.

"Nothing…he said nothing," Thad said, sounding on the verge of tears. "He…he was a lively chap, spirited, confident. We never thought he would do something like this."

A few chimes of "no" went around the group including from my own lips.

"Was anything amiss about his behavior," Master Morris said. "Did he seem melancholic at all, had his manner changed of late?"

Another silent pause settled in. I dared not be the first to say anything; perhaps no one noticed anything.

"Now that I think on it, he was a bit…I don't know…quieter," Victor said. "I suppose I thought it was the pressure of graduation."

"No you're right," Alex said. "He was a lively chap, yes, but he was keeping to himself a bit, was a little more combative."

Master Morris and the constable glanced at each other.

"Did he tell you if anything was troubling him in particular," the headmaster said.

All of us exchanged glances. I took a hard sigh and moved my hand to my chin. Telling sensitive details in such an open forum was rather frowned upon, but if such details lead to something like this then they needed to be out. Such was my logic, or the logic of the schoolboy who just lost his friend.

"Reg was betrothed, and by order of his family from what I understand," I said. "I don't know whether he loved the girl or not, but I know their wedding was to be this year scheduled for autumn. I also believe his father was grooming him for a career."

I didn't want to look at any of my mates, keeping up the appearance that I looked sufficiently embarrassed by what I just confided.

"So he did feel truly trapped by his future," Master Morris said with a sigh.

"He was so devoted to serving his family," I added, my voice cracking. "Dear God I never thought he would do this."

I buried my face in my hands and took some hard breaths, my eyes legitimately burning with the threat of tears. Another silence fell, For some reason I was anticipating more questions: "Do any of you have any reason to believe someone may have done this?" "Did he have any enemies?" "Was he involved in any quarrel?"

"I've heard all I needed to hear," the constable said. "This was clearly a case of a lad who felt he couldn't go on. It's a bloomin' shame, you know, a bloody waste. I won't say anything further to risk speakin' ill of the dead, but you boys remember this as long as you live."

Every one of us managed a somber "Yes sir."

"I'm done here, Mr. Morris," the constable said, eyeing all of us.

So that was that. No inquiry, no investigation, the violent end of a human life was a closed matter within a few hours. So typical of an idiot village constable; this whole thing was likely taking time away from Constable Cooper's legitimate trade or his drinking, perhaps both. I was disgusted by his lack of professionalism; though I would have been a fool to hold too much of a grudge. In the blurry eyes of the law, Reginald Kirkney was an unfortunate who took his own life; it was a done matter. It meant that I would get away with yet another one; perhaps God liked me after all, or the Devil was looking out for his own. I was reluctant to give any thought to celebration.

"Thank you, Constable Cooper," Master Morris said. "Do any of you gentlemen know if Lord Kirkney has any relatives in attendance today?"

"No, last any of us heard he had a servant coming to collect him tomorrow," Thad practically sputtered. "No one from his family was coming."

The headmaster eyed us all and then slowly nodded.

"I would like to speak to this servant when he comes here tomorrow," Master Morris said. "In the meantime if any of you do hear of any family arriving report this straight to me. Graduation has been postponed until 1 o'clock. I recommend that you attend and show support for your classmates. I will make an announcement of Lord Kirkney's passing, though the nature of it will be kept private. I advise discretion in how you discuss this outside this room. Should you care to share this with your other friends that is your business, but please use caution when speaking about it to anyone else."

We all nodded with some words of affirmation.

"You all are dismissed," he said. "Should I need any more from you, you will be summoned."

Another round of "Yes, sir."

"I do give my heartfelt condolences to you all on the death of Reginald Kirkney," the headmaster said. "He was a fine young man who held much promise. It's a shame that he could not see to reap the fruits of his labor, and instead chose to throw them all away."

There were a few rings of "Thank you, sir" and we all filed for the door.

Everyone walked out and scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind; I paid half attention to those that flew in clumps. Thad practically charged down the hallway, fists balled at his sides, James and Miguel following close behind. Tom and Nigel went off by themselves in opposite directions. I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder and looked to see Victor standing next to me.

"We're going to need a few stiff toasts to Lord Reggie's memory," Victor said.

"I'll join you lads on that one," Alex said from behind us.

I looked at both of them. I really didn't know what the hell I wanted to do after that, but some good company sounded the ideal.

"Yeah, I'm going to need it," I said.

I followed Victor to his room and really didn't give a damn who was around. I realized as I practically hurled myself on his soft couch that Alex and Colin were in the room with us. Soon glass of sherry was in my hand, I saw the trim on Victor's sleeve for a moment and the stem of the glass from an upward view a moment later. The rich liquid slid down my throat and immediately cooled some of the fire. I flicked my wrist in Victor's direction and watched him fill my glass again with a grimace.

"No one's drinking themselves to death on my watch," Victor said.

"I'm not going to snuff it like good old Reg, believe me," I said, this time taking a careful sip.

The room went quiet, I only heard the clink of the bottle on the desk. My eyes were glued to Victor's flowery rug, my head pounding. I felt a light nudge on my shoulder and looked up to see Victor eying me. He then raised his glass.

"To Reginald Kirkney," he said. "Rest in peace, old chap."

I raised my glass and joined the "Cheers," downing the sweet ambrosia once again. I allowed my glass to stay empty for a moment and lay back. None of us spoke, everyone rapt in their own private moments of silence or perhaps too choked up to sound like gentlemen. The silence just pressed on me; the lonely quiet, the reality.

"He's really gone," I managed to breathe out. "He's…he's really dead."

I managed to look up: Alex was sitting on the couch across from me and practically slumped over. His chin in his hand. Colin sat far from him, leaning heavily on the arm and looking ready to fall over at any moment. This was what I brought us too…no…this is what Reg brought us to. It was his decision; I was merely the weapon.

"The…the fucking bleeder really did this," I said, my voice caught behind cracks.

Reg was gone; I repeated that phrase over and over in my head. It only now felt real; Reg was really gone. I felt the heat build behind my eyes and spill out onto my cheeks before I could really think to control it. This was not the time to be a gentleman. I freed a few whimpers and buried my face in my hand. I just let it all pour out; all my anger, all my hurt, all my heartache.

I heard a few whimpers from my mates; who they belonged to exactly was not a factor to which I paid any attention.

"You…you bastard," I choked out. "Why, dear Christ why!"

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked over to see Victor's ring. I leaned against his arm and savored his hand massaging my shoulder. It was a peace I had never known before. I never cried for Oskar, I never cried for mum, but I was bawling my eyes out for a bastard whose life was ended by my hand. Perhaps my tears went to the least deserving. Perhaps my tears were for the man Reginald never was.

I had never had my heart broken before, perhaps this was what this was. It was more the parting of a lover than the death of a friend.

I eventually calmed down, though the tears of the others flowed freely. Perhaps I was a good example for once. We had a few more glasses, I patted more arms and encouraged my fellows to let it all out.

"The Bard had words for this, Malcolm to the grieving Macduff after he learns his family has been slaughtered: 'Dispute it like a man,' sayeth Malcolm. To which Macduff replied: 'I shall do so, but I must also feel it as a man.'"

I'd had "Macbeth" playing through my mind all day for obvious reasons.

I said the words past the lingering sob in my voice. I could tell by the nods and the slightly louder sound of whimpers it provided some comfort.

At last the clock struck noon, we gradually recollected ourselves, straightened out our coats and cravats, allowed some time for red eyes to clear. Most of us had been on our best behavior, I was only a little relaxed when we left the room and the others seemed to retain their respective comportments. We walked through the hallway and joined the throngs of students lining up in the chapel to take our seats for graduation. At first I just felt all eyes on me, though shut out the thought. We're just lads joining our fellows for this ceremony.

I did look around the room in case Miss Isabelle and the Viscount decided to make an appearance. If I saw them, I would be a gentleman and pull them aside with the news before Master Morris made the grand announcement. Fortunately they were nowhere in sight. I did see Thad walking towards us from another doorway, the rest of the lads right behind him including those that joined us in the headmaster's office and those who were elsewhere at the time. The sight of this made me more than a little uneasy. He was all somber smiles, him and the rest folding with the four of us and all of us finding seats together. There was little conversation for obvious reasons, though the scent of brandy practically floated through the wind with every breath they took.

A trumpet fanfare sounded and everyone rose for the usual routine. The graduates marching down the aisle in their black robes like some gathering for a black mass. I swore I saw Reg's face in the crowd but it passed quickly, a trick of the mind that's all. I almost hoped he was actually walking with his fellow graduates. I would smile, give a little wave, and realize it had all been a nightmare. No, such was not the case.

Then came the usual boring speeches: "You have all come to a grand occasion on this great journey of life" and such.

Master Morris then took the podium.

"On this day of great happiness, I greatly regret sharing some tragic news," he said. "One of your classmates passed away last night."

The gasps and whispers rose around the room. We kept to ourselves looking at our feet.

"It is with a heavy heart that I inform you all that Lord Reginald Bertram George Kirkney was found dead this morning."

More gasps rose up from the crowd. I saw looks of curiosity melt into looks of sudden worry and sadness. How many of these little bastards even knew Reg? How many of them did Reg ever let in? The answer to that question was sitting in my immediate vicinity. I carefully glanced around at the other lads, suddenly making eye contact with Thad. I swore I was given an evil eye before he put his gaze back forward, his nails subtly digging into his knee.

"To our shock and great sadness, he had been ill for a while and succumbed to his condition the evening before graduation."

Now that was one way of putting it. Everyone now thought poor Reggie died in his bed, some kind of ailment stopping his young heart. The thought floated through my head that it was the ailment of personal weakness that did him in though I did not allow it through for too long.

"Let us have a moment of contemplation in memory of young Lord Kirkney."

We all bowed our heads, but I wanted to contemplate nothing. I just wanted to get this bloody day over with. Finally a few words from Master Morris brought our heads back up.

"Lord Kirkney is not able to accept his diploma today, but it will be granted to him posthumously and I will accept his certificate on his behalf," Master Morris said.

The minister mentioned Reg in his opening prayer. The student speakers added a few words of condolences before reading their prepared speeches. The wretch would have eaten up this moment; he was more the center of attention as a ghost than as a graduate. When all the blokes finished queuing up at the call of their names, Master Morris called out Reg's name and accepted the certificate for him to a round of somber applause. The old bugger was getting more attention from the students now than he ever did on any other day.

I was infinitely relieved when the ceremony concluded, the exit march playing and everyone slowly filing out of the chapel. I didn't want to stay and wait for the words of condolences, or rather the continued sideways glances from all those who held Reg in a special dark place in their hearts. Thad touched us individually on the shoulder and rounded us up as soon as we left the building like a sheep dog.

"I know we have our respective preparations, but let's all get together in in the village tonight; raise a glass to Reg," Thad said. "He can't be at the celebration, but I know bloody well he'd want us to go on with it."

I nodded and gave a spirited "yes" with my fellows. We were rallied together now while the pain was fresh, though I could already tell some of the ones joining in the cheer would be laying down early or having their own private celebrations. This was supposed to be Reg's grand send-off, though he took that option a little early regardless of how that final deed was carried out. I heard the time 7 o'clock tossed around as the best time for everyone to get together. It was early enough so everyone could get gloriously pissed and get enough sleep and recovery time to greet the families the next morning.

I did think whilst walking away that Thad sounded a little too cheery for someone who was so distraught not that long ago. Perhaps he was dealing with this nonsense in his usual jovial fashion. Judging by that charming glance he gave me during the ceremony, however, it was likelier he was putting on his happy mask; what that mask hid both intrigued and disturbed me.

I finished my packing and joined Alex and Victor for a late lunch. None of the other lads were anywhere to be seen, a factor that made me somewhat nervous. I went for a ride later, did an impromptu recital with some other boys who were just sitting around waiting for the day to end. It was all pleasantries, I did get a few "My condolences for your friend." A few people asked me if I knew what happened; "I would rather not discuss it," was my general response and always accepted politely. I wanted to be as kind as I could to those around me not part of our own conspiracy; I would need them next year if I were to retain my sanity.

Thaddeus' vicious glance and his following jovial words did occasionally float through my head during the afternoon and into the evening. It was a waving red flag of warning, something was not right about that boy. The thought did cross my mind quite a few times that afternoon that Thaddeus knew something, perhaps more of the group. How much had Reg let him into his confidence? Did he know Reg planned to snuff himself, or better yet did Reg give Thad any warning that he thought me capable of committing bodily harm against him? Just where did Thad go in those hours before the graduation; who was he with and what was he saying? How many rumors and conspiracies could be planted in the course of three hours?

A voice in my brain whispered for me to find another occasion that night; "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." Eventually I shut out all these thoughts. Pure paranoia, that's all it was. Paranoia could lead me to doing something truly stupid, it would also become a habit. My thoughts only turned back to the doomed Scottish hero; the slow unraveling of paranoia creating his own undoing. I couldn't allow that, I had to be resolute.

This day would end. As much as I bore no love for my house and family, it now looked more like a calm shelter from this raging storm. Sit for the summer, keep myself occupied even with any work my brothers had for me, and simply wait out the storm. Though when I left my shelter, would I find my peaceful home to be a torn-up ruin?


	12. Part 12

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 12**

Despite the pricking of warning in my brain, I was on the path for the village that evening. I couldn't have cared a shred about what nonexistent conspiracies revolved around me; I wanted nothing more then to fall into drunken oblivion. If I drank myself to death or if my own throat was cut by my fellows, it mattered not to me.

The closer I got the more on edge I became, looking over my shoulder constantly in case I was walking into some sort or trap. Naturally I entered Aldeburgh uneventfully, my nerves calming a bit when I walked into the tavern and saw some of the lads already there.

Thad approached me straightaway and gave me a pat on the shoulder with this jovial smile the moment he saw me.

"Choose your poison, drinks are on me tonight," he said.

That could have meant he slipped a couple extra pounds into the pocket of the bartender to poison my drink, but I realized this little line of thinking was becoming rather silly.

I got myself a whisky and played along with beaming smiles and happiness when Thad toasted his own glass to me. I could already tell he got an early start; Thad was a happy drunk. The night continued as any night did, only tonight had this black fog over it. Any laughs were nervous or forced, most of us pounded away one after another to shut out the internal noise.

No one spoke of Reg, barely anyone spoke at all. A few more of the lads filed in but it wasn't the grand crowd I was expecting. The Apostles sealed themselves off in a safe house after the death of their Lord, bundling themselves in sackcloth and hiding from the world out to get all of them. I wonder if any of the Apostles went out and got smashed after the Crucifixion; the Savior is dead, the Romans are going to kill us, everything's fucked may as well lay down our holy ideals and get pissed. That's how we were that night, or at least that was my mindset. Despite every effort to shove the thought out, I hoped if any Judas in our midst hadn't had the decency to hang himself yet he'd better do so soon.

I don't know how many drinks I had or what time it was, I just knew I wasn't drunk enough. I felt that pleasant haze, but could still see, hear, and comprehend everything around me. Perhaps I was more exhausted than drunk; a scary thought. I knew it was late because I started hearing more singing and slurred voices, a couple mentions of "poor old Reg" was all I heard for the party's honoree.

I settled at a table off to the side. A few mates were at the table next to it for a moment but dispersed. I was left alone with my drink and the press of my thoughts. I did feel a shifting beside me and saw the sleeve of a black coat I well recognized.

"I know, you think a party in Reg's honor would be a bit more lively," Thad said.

"It would have been livelier if he chose to join us," I said, taking a sip from another glass of something and not giving a damn how anything sounded.

I heard Thad sigh hard and take a gulp of whatever was in front of him; I didn't bother to look up to investigate.

"I can't quarrel with that sentiment," he said. "It's just…it's just I still don't bloody believe this. You know, he seemed all right to me. Nerves yes, uncertainty about his future yes, but not once did I think him capable of killing himself."

This slurred ramble announced loud and clear Lord Harlowe was completely in the bag. It was enough for my hackles to stay down for now at least.

"I mean he was a solid guy, a fucking brick wall; he laughed in the face of everyone and everything, and he snuffed himself?" Thad kept his tone down, I at least credit him for that.

He then raised his glass and directly faced me, I couldn't ignore him any more. I rose up from my haunch and raised my own glass.

"To Reg," he said.

"To Reg," I replied, clinking glasses with him.

I wondered if this was going to turn into a happy joining of glasses and cheers across the room, but alas no one was paying any attention. I sipped from my glass in blissful silence, save for the sound of Thad greedily gulping down the last of his drink. He just sat there, I could feel his eyes on me.

"Can I ask you a small question," he said, I felt the wool of his coat brushing against my shoulder and smelled the gin soaking his breath. "Only as a curious friend of course. When did Reg tell you his wedding date?"

Here it comes.

"Actually he didn't, his little woman told me," I said. "She and papa made this surprise visit last month and sicked themselves on him after our match, I just happened to be there."

"But you did know," he said, tension dripping from his voice.

"Darling Isabelle said a season, damned if I know if it was correct or not," I said. "I know he sure as hell didn't want to say anything."

"Oh, I see," Thad said, sipping his drink in a tense pause. "Do you think he was planning on telling any of us when it was? We're his mates, you know. He was getting married in a few months and he didn't bother to tell any of us?"

The whine emanating from him just made my head ache.

"He wasn't planning on living that long, Harlowe, we all know that by now."

I heard him take another sip in silence. I looked out the corner of my eye and saw him slightly grimace.

"So you think he'd been planning this for a while?" he said.

"I don't know," I said, trying to keep my civil tone. "It could have been an impulsive decision, it could have been planned out his whole life. The results were the same."

The pause set in again, only accentuated by the usual chatter and clinking glasses echoing through the room. I felt Thad's arm brush against my shoulder, his breath against my face as he leaned in again.

"I just have to know; he didn't tell you he was going to do it did he?" Thad practically whispered in my ear.

I looked over at him. If arrows could shoot through my eyes, a volley would have punctured every part of his pretty face.

"After all you were closest to him, perhaps that was one confidence he kept you in," Thad continued. "Of course I will not blame you for wanting to keep decorum…"

"Don't bother even finishing your sentence, he didn't say anything of the sort," I said, looking him directly in his eyes. "I didn't have a bloody clue he was going to do this to himself."

I turned away from him and took another sip. Bastard. I was proud of myself how calm I was keeping. I felt more annoyed at this wanker than I felt nervous about where this conversation could go.

"Right, I'm sorry," he said. "I spoke out of turn. I just want all answers. I cared for Reg deeply."

"As did we all," I said.

"I just want to know why all this happened, how this all happened. Not like that blasted constable was any help."

My skin crawled, but I only smirked around my glass.

"Reg cut his own fucking throat, the constable helped enough."

Thad gave a nervous chuckle. I wanted to smash the glass across his skull now, but it would only delay his noise.

"I know, but — and this is going to sound totally mental — has it even crossed your mind that someone may have done him in?"

I merely raised an eyebrow and took another sip.

"He left a note, Thad, the constable said it matched his handwriting and Master Morris went along with it," I said.

"If the constable can actually read and write I would be surprised," Thad said. "He sure as hell isn't an expert at deduction, he probably just took a quick look at whatever he had and declared it a done deal."

"You do know the village folk might overhear you talking about their beloved officer of the law."

"Even if he and Master Morris saw they matched, mimicking handwriting isn't exactly a hard skill. Any man with sharp observation and steadiness of hand can forge a script."

"That was a long note. Are you saying he was snuffed by some kind of master forger, maybe a spy?"

"Or an intelligent man of high education," he said. "Think about it," the smell of gin stronger as his nose was practically touching my face. "His family is close to the king, Marquis Kirkney is an ambassador, Reggie was the second born, his marriage would have meant a profitable business deal. Do you know how many enemies all of them have, he may as well have had a target on his chest."

I snickered a little. I much preferred where this was going; he was soused and tossing out ghost stories. I preferred it as long as he stayed on this course.

"If you ponder it a little more, how many of those enemies could have children at this school?" he continued. "And how many of those children received the attention of any of our fists by his order? Army Phantomhive? His daddy earl has been fighting the marquis for the attention of His Majesty for years. Mikey Carrington? Baron Carrington's a business rival of the Marlings..."

"And you say any of this too much out loud and your own daddy earl will put a cane to you," I said with a laugh.

"I know, it's mental," he said, taking a deep breath. "I just…I'm trying to fathom all of this."

I finished my glass and stared into it.

"I know, Harlowe," I said. "All of this is a little hard to take."

"That it is," he said.

He then called over a bar maid, who got us another glass of our chosen spirits.

"I never thought Reg was capable of taking his own life," he said as soon as the maid was gone. "He seemed to accept his future. He was too proud to do such a thing as this."

"Perhaps that pride got to him, he knew it was a whole different world outside school," I said. "He wasn't the proud lion out there as he was here."

"But kill himself? Never. He told me his plans. He even told me he was going to make sure his wedding didn't take place for years."

I heard the trap creak, but I had to walk around it. I couldn't let him know I saw it there.

"He could have given us all different stories, Harlowe," I said, not hiding my annoyance. "He wanted to put up a screen for everyone, stay looking strong while he was falling apart on the inside. He wanted us all to think he was completely strong, you know what would have happened if he looked a blubbering mess."

"But that's not was Reg was like, you of all people should know that," Thad said with a slight crack in his voice. "After all, he kept you the closest."

"And that riles you right up doesn't it," I said, looking right at him. "Do I smell a little jealousy, Thad? Are you a little resentful he spread his time with other people?"

"Not at all," Thad said, leaning in my ear and whispering. "I knew who he kept company with. I just know he was keeping me more company in the past few weeks."

So that's why I barely saw Reg in the weeks before graduation. He was floating from golden boy to golden boy, I was hardly surprised. But then did he say something to this bastard that could cause problems? Then again Thad could have been lying his arse off, how do I know Reg wasn't holed up in his room bawling and prying his hand from the pistol until the appointed time?

"Does that rile you right up," he continued.

"Hardly," I said.

"I'm sure. He wasn't gracing you with his presence that often, and I assure you we were having a bang-up time. All this and you knew he was getting married in autumn, weren't you special enough to pick up on that fact."

He was either mocking me or leading this into the point of no return.

"Was there a little jealousy, Grell? I can't imagine you would take that like any normal gentlemen, I've seen what you can do when you get a little angry."

"If you want another demonstration of that, just say the word," I said. "No, you're not worth the effort."

"But Reg was wasn't he? Poor little Grell Sutcliff; his good mate rejects him and was going off forever into matrimony. You just couldn't have that could you; if you can't have him no one will?"

I glared at him, looking purely incredulous.

"Beg pardon, but it sounds like you're implying something," I said, staring him straight in the eyes.

"What do you think?"

"You're barking mad. First assassins from noble houses and now your peers?"

"Where were you last night?"

"In my room, packing then sleeping," I said with a frustrated sigh.

"Did you see Reg at all?"

"In passing."

"Reg told me he was going to take a few nights with a few other people; you, Victor, and James were names he mentioned. James and Victor told me when their nights were, when was yours?"

"Did you check his appointment book? Did you require him to file a schedule?"

"All of us were meeting tonight, that gave him one last night to entertain. You were his favorite, it's only logical that honor fell to you."

"Perhaps he planned a night with me, but became too occupied killing himself to pay a visit. Such rudeness offends me."

I put a hand to my chest in mock hurt, glaring daggers at him.

"And you say you were in your room all night," Thad continued. "Did anyone see you about?"

"Loads of people, are you going to interrogate the entire school?"

"Naturally no one would think anything of seeing you on the pathway, to and from a relaxing night on a quiet little beach. They probably saw Reg too because you arrived separately."

"You should write this down, it would make for a lovely novel you know. I would refrain from using real names, it could lead to loads of trouble."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely common sense. You keep your wild tales to yourself, but I guarantee they will not provide you comfort. That will come when you get the truth through that thick skull of yours. Going around whispering conspiracies in people's ears might feel good in the long run, you might get some satisfaction, but it will come back to tear you apart. How will that help dear old Reg's memory in the end?"

"I can help dear old Reg's memory by not letting his legacy be a man who died a dishonorable death," Thad said. "Yes I thought about noble conspiracies, but it's a little more obvious who had better access and better motive."

"Reg killed himself," I hissed in his face. "Wake up! He wasn't the perfect solid guy you so wished he was. How many accusations will dampen that reality and how long are you going to go on convinced of foul play when your close friend was not at peace? You dishonor him by denying that and if he was truly your friend you will accept it."

He could only give me a glare in response, but I wanted to hear no more. I took a large gulp from my glass and pushed it across the table, rising from my seat. I barely gave him a look back when walking away, putting a couple crowns on the bar as a tip and walking for the door. I didn't bother to look at whoever was watching me, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

I pushed through the door and into the cool sea air outside. I was stumbling a little bit, perhaps I was more tipsy than I thought though I wasn't as gone as I wanted to be. Perhaps I had built up a tolerance and was finding that out at the absolute worst time. I did manage to find my legs and practically sprinted across the village back onto the road to school. My step slowed slightly once the lights of the town became dimmer and dimmer and all that was before me was a path dimly lit by the moon.

I kept my thoughts occupied with what I would do for my last night of the term. I would do some reading that night, answering the door for no one, and then sleep. The carriage was coming early in the morning and I would be out of there. For the first time in my life my home sounded like a blissful haven compared to here; I would even savor Matthew and Jacob's company over these bastards. Whether anyone here was redeemable or not would be a decision for another time.

I believe I was halfway on the path now, the village was gone from the horizon and school would be visible in a few more meters. I rarely made this walk alone. Usually it was fitting to bring a candle, though by the moonlight I could see my way well enough. I looked up to get a look at the rest of the path, only to see a few dark figures ahead of me. A few more students coming in my direction, though I realized I heard no footsteps or chatter. The figures weren't moving either; they were standing straight where they were.

I took a more careful step, though readied myself to turn back. If they were interested in me, I was walking into a trap. If I turned around now I could sprint back to the village, I already had a head start and was a fair runner. Who the hell could this be? Thieves would be too stupid to target this area; it was smack between the school and the village and there would be no escape for them. Any constables would have nabbed me before I left the village. No, I had a feeling as to what this was about.

I proceeded a few more steps, then fidgeted with my pocket; feigning a sudden realization that I had forgotten something. Perhaps they would think I hadn't noticed them and would pay less attention to me turning back; that would give me more of a head start. I spun on my heel and took a swift step in the opposite direction, paying attention to any sounds of rustling.

I heard footsteps hitting the ground hard, but all around me now. I took to a run for a moment, my body slamming against a hard force. Two sets of hands grabbed me firmly and pushed me down to the ground. My head exploded in pain with the impact of a boot tip, more feet pounding into my sides. I was barely able to roll over when a set of hands peeled me off the ground, I was now face to face with Don Miguel before he punched me hard across the face. I felt myself passed to another set of hands, seeing James' face as he pounded me in the gut. I was thrown to the ground and not allowed to lie fully prone before Tom kicked me across the shoulder and Nigel punched me upside the head. It was a little more clear what was going on now.

I was more focused on recognizing everyone's faces than I was about struggling against the wave of blows. All of them were hard enough to cause me pain, but not enough to do serious bodily harm. I suspected this was on Thad's order; disposing of a body was a tricky matter, plus it was easier to tell the school watch I tumbled down a hill. I paused to spit out a tooth, a back tooth fortunately, and blow out the blood collecting in my nose.

I barely felt any pain, my nerves were running so fast every punch was a hot sting and nothing more. I managed to count eight around me, some taking part sporadically and some merely watching with savage looks. The only regular faces I didn't see were the three I shared tears with after Master Morris' announcement; though Victor, Alex, and Colin were likely aware of this. Thaddeus wasn't there of course, he was having an extra drink and waiting to see me truly bloody.

It slowly crept in; the hot press of bodies, the sting of every punch, the growing ache in every part of my body, the beautiful faces of these boys. I felt like I was the center of a grand orgy, they were coming in from all sides, going at me in all directions. The sudden tightness in my trousers was another sensation; I actually hoped they decided to punish me in a more involved way though it was a little too public. I let out a hard sigh, then a moan that turned into a series of them. Then a series of cackles came out of me; I was practically screaming in laughter.

I looked up and saw some of my assailants' eyes widen, some of them even backed off me. I heard one murmur of, "The bloody nutter is enjoying this." The assaults suddenly backed off altogether, though it was one voice above the rest that told me why.

"That's enough, lads. I think he has the message."

Miguel tossed me to the ground like a rag doll. I fell on my side, though a sharp pain shooting through my body made me turn on my stomach. I looked up through my swollen lids and saw Lord Harlowe approaching; smug smirk firmly in place as he stared hard at me. He was savoring my misery. This occasion only warranted a few appropriate words, I at first thought a line of "Et tu, Brute" would have been fitting considering the circumstances. No, Caesar's final words to Brutus were said in surprise. I spit out a little more blood and found a way to talk against my aching jaw.

"_Sic semper tyrannis_, Thad?" I said. "You may as well say it."

Brutus' words to Caesar after stabbing him, "thus always to tyrants." That's what this was about wasn't it? The alpha was dead, the beta was now fair game. Thad must have felt so mighty about now.

"I need no words for what I am beholding now," he said. "How the mighty have fallen."

He took a few more steps further until he was standing directly over me. He came down on one knee, smirk firmly in place.

"You are not very well-liked," he said. "And no I'm not talking about just now. Do you know how easily these boys agreed with me when I suggested you be taught a little humility?"

"And all you needed to tell them was I killed Reg?" I said, spitting out a little more blood pouring from my cut mouth and the hole where my back tooth used to be. "Though I don't think it matters to them that I actually fucking didn't!" my tone rose with every word.

He grabbed me by the collar and shoved his face into mine.

"Grell Sutcliff confess anything? Oh that's a laugh," he said. "I'm sorry old chum, but it's a little hard to take your word for it and all the boys agreed with me."

A round of agreeing grunts and a few hisses of "yes" marked his point.

"There will never be any justice for Reg in the eyes of the law," he continued. "That idiot constable would never think himself wrong, or a few pounds in his pocket would keep his resolve." Thad then pulled me closer, leaning into my ear and whispering. "Then again if he actually believed us and you were arrested, you hold a little bit of sensitive information on all of us. You hang for your crime, you would make sure we all hang for ours because that's the kind of loyal friend you are." He pulled away and spoke louder. "We talked a little about killing you, though that was seen as a bit harsh, not to mention messy. No we'll let you live, though in our eyes you're a dead man."

A few more agreeing words rose up from the rest of the conspiracy. Thad shoved me back to the ground and rose over me, his smile becoming a bit more malicious. He spat on me and looked at the other lads.

"Pick him up, the rest of you disperse," he said. "Only small groups, we don't want anyone getting too suspicious, Sutcliff comes in last. Anyone asks, he took a bad tumble."

My aching head rested to the side, my innate survival response weakening and allowing in a flood of aches. I managed to look up enough to see Harlowe's leg right practically against me, all there was between the air and his skin was a nice silk stocking. I mustered my last reserves and grabbed his leg with both hands, opening my jaw wide despite the ache and planting in my teeth. The stocking protected him from some damage, but I gnawed hard.

He let out a sudden yelp and shook his leg. I held on tight and bit harder, tasting blood seeping through the stocking. The silk grew weaker with every chomp of my chipped, sharp teeth. I lessened my grip for a second for a finger to tear open the hole and latched on again just as more hands grabbed my legs and my shoulders to pry me off. I held on tight, teeth sinking and tearing into his flesh. He screamed louder as I shook my head and bit harder, feeling his skin give way. I yanked my head back and took a chunk of skin with me, oh how I loved hearing him scream.

I spit out his skin and let go of his leg. He kicked me across the head, the blow making me numb though I registered a few more punches for good measure before hands lifted me to my feet. I pushed my senses a little more forward and found my feet, allowing myself to stumble ahead as hands guided me. I heard Thad whimpering behind me, though the noise was soon out of range. My weak legs kept walking forward, gaining more strength though my body was on fire.

I knew we were closer to school as I felt a few handkerchiefs wipe the blood from my face and a large hat was plopped on my head. A bulky coat went across my shoulders, hands pulling the collar high. A hand bowed my head down just as I saw the stone walkways of King's Crest. Arms went across my shoulders and bodies crowded around me, these lads must have wanted to keep my injuries less obvious and look as if they were escorting a drunk classmate. We passed through the doors, no one was on duty tonight but I saw a few passing students give me a double take. I heard Tom and Nigel's voices say varying versions of, "There ya go, the step is this way. Bloody hell you drank too much tonight."

One student stopped and said, "Is he all right? Oh God is he hurt?"

"Just leave him be," Tom said. "Just had a little too much and took a tumble. He'll be fine, he's a hearty lad."

The student went on his merry way. A hand went into my pocket and I heard the clinking of my keys. We must have been close to my room. At last we stopped at a familiar door. I heard the clinking of a key, then the door opening. I was shoved into the room and dropped on the floor. I noticed the hat and the coat removed from me and heard the clink of the keys tossed on the floor. I looked up, seeing both of them walking out the door glaring at me before slamming it shut.

I was alone in the dark room, the blows now exploding in pain. I managed to come to my feet long enough to collapse on my soft bed. The ache lingered for a little longer, then everything faded with the sweet oblivion of sleep.


	13. Part 13

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 13**

My oblivion ended to the cacophony of screams emanating from every nerve in my body. I managed to open the puffy balls that were my eyelids to allow slits of painful light to enter, closing them again and feeling the dull sting.

I slowly recognized my form through the shroud of burning aches, gradually moving my limbs. My arms and legs remarkably did not ache as much as the rest of my body. My shoulders and my hips were on fire through all the kicks, though my arms and legs remained somewhat unscathed. I forced myself to move them and got more of a sense of my body, trying to decipher from where exactly the fire of pain was emanating.

My chest hurt, breathing was a monumental task yet I did it; a few ribs were probably broken. My face felt so bloated, it was probably a black and blue ball right now. I realized I could move my jaw, it probably wasn't broken but the side of my face hurt likely from all the blows and my knocked-out tooth.

I managed to open my eyes again, my head aching as I turned it away from the searing light and focused on my clock. 7:35. I had no idea what time I was dumped into my room and I had no clue how I managed to sleep through the pain. It was likely the last of my nerves, actual exhaustion, and a few blows to the head that did it. I would likely get a knock on the door around 10 or 11 from the carriage driver, Matthew always sent a different one each time.

I lay where I was like some sort of observing log, eyes opening a little more and focused right on my clock. Soon it was 8 then quarter past, I watched the hand crawl to 8:30 with some hazy interest then saw it move to quarter before 9. At 9 I tried to move a little more, by quarter past 9 I made an attempt to shift my torso and received the stabbing pain in response. I managed to shimmy myself across the bed a centimeter at a time, the pain still very much alive but only a detail. I was actually spurred on by it; my aches like a comforting blanket to me now, preventing me from thinking about anything but my basic survival instincts.

I eventually managed to drop my feet to the floor, a few movements at a time taking me off the bed. I managed to come to a stand, one hand on the mattress holding me up. The onset of dizziness nearly put me on the floor, but a few deep breaths and shouts into my brain kept my upright. I forced my aching neck to look back at the clock. 9:40.

I have no clue how I did it, but I somehow managed to stumble across my room toward my outfit I laid out the day before. All I could think of was the carriage was coming soon that I needed to be ready to board. I removed my clothes, only taking a cursory look down at the large blotches of black, blue, and red across my midsection before going back to the task at hand. I took a moment to slide the pot from under the bed and sort out the business of emptying my bladder. The red tinge to the watery waste was more than a little alarming. Nothing but an aftereffect, I had to keep focused on readying myself for leaving. Should I indeed drop dead I would enjoy my slumber.

I somehow put my stockings on whilst upright; one hand on the bedpost holding me up and the other slowly yanking the cloth over the curves and disgusting hair of my leg one bit at a time. The trousers were infant's play in comparison to the stockings. I only put on a shirt and barely managed to tuck it. The waistcoat and the cravat would have to be shoved into a trunk, I really didn't give a toss about looking presentable now. I put on a light coat and slid my shoes on; may as well have them in place though I had no intention of going anywhere at the present.

I wasn't in any shape to be out of the bed let alone leaving the room, but that was probably to my advantage. I didn't want to think on my treacherous companions, my aches provided a pleasant distraction from the thought. I took some care to brush my hair and put it in such a place to act as a curtain around my wounds. For some reason I actually cared to look as neat as possible; I was a young man dressed down for a long carriage ride home, not a walking lump of black and blue flesh and blood crawling like a slug. I had to take some time to convince myself of this.

Salvation finally arrived with a knock on the door followed by an older man's voice saying, "Master Grell, the carriage is here." I thought to ask the driver to come right in, though a squeak through the roaring in my mind told me to at least see who it was lest Lord Harlowe the Prickless and his little whores decided to lure me out for an encore. I managed to drag myself upright to look out the peephole, indeed seeing a middle-aged man standing outside the door in the typical blue uniform. I think this was Edward, the same driver that took me back in February; I was surprised Matthew held onto one this long.

I slowly opened the door, realizing it had never been locked. Edward looked at the door with the usual businesslike calm, though his eyes fell on me and widened as his jaw dropped.

"Young master," he said with a slight gasp, "what happened?"

"Nothing that concerns you," I said, speech slightly muffled by the aching in my mouth I moved aside and putting some more strands of my hair across my face. "The trunks are all packed, I want to leave straightaway."

He watched me stumble aside with that same look on his face.

"Do you need a physician, sir," he said.

"I'm fine," I practically snapped. "I would rather get started sooner than later."

He paused for a moment and slowly nodded.

"Yes sir," he said.

Edward picked up two of my trunks and escorted me through the hallway as usual. I stuffed my nerve further and forced myself to walk into the corridor with a tall gait though it made every muscle and bone burn even more. I walked past the usual group of departing students, but kept my gaze to the ground; I wanted nothing to do with anyone and I certainly did not want to display my wounds. This was not in fear or embarrassment, this was sheer disgust. Everything about this place was tainted now; every rug, every brick, every smiling young face.

I swear I felt every eye on me, heard every little whisper and gasp as people passed me, though I had no idea how exposed my condition was. I only hoped one of my treasonous friends wasn't passing by at the right moment. I did not hear anyone familiar during this entire walk of shame, thankfully we made it outside and I saw the carriage lined up with others along the side of the path. Edward loaded the trunks on top and then opened the door for me. This was the moment when I could no longer keep up the façade. He helped me up the steps like an older gentleman, every walk and stretch was torture.

All this time I could hear the shuffles and voices of other students with other servants passing right by. Occasionally I swore I heard a "oh damn, what happened to him" or "is that Sutcliff?" At last I was in the carriage, I shut the curtains and practically collapsed in the plush red seat. It was comfortably dark inside, my fort away from the prying world where I could remain with my aches to keep me company. The carriage suddenly shifted as the last few trunks went on top and were roped down. A sudden knock against the door gave me a start and a renewed searing ache, though I only heard the driver's voice.

"You all set, sir?" he said.

"I'm fine, let's just get going," I said.

"There's some wine under the seat if you want refreshment," he said

That sounded most delectable and I didn't give a damn how drunk I would be arriving home.

"Thank you," I said.

At last the carriage shook with him taking his seat and shifted as it began its journey. I gave it a good ten minutes until we were finally away from King's Crest, I finally could relax then; as much as I could at least with the fire in every part of my body. Edward was taking it easy on the curves and stones, though every shift just grated on every ache. I was glad my watch was packed somewhere, I really didn't want to know how long we had actually traveled for. I finally decided to numb my pain a little and slowly felt around for the wine.

This was a major task in itself requiring much bending and grating of teeth. Finally I found the box and ripped it open to reveal the glorious bottle of Bordeaux waiting for me. I found the strength to take the corkscrew to it, though really didn't need a glass. I knew I would probably get scolded for this later, but I hoisted the bottle to my lips and drank down greedily. I wanted to get smashed; anything that dulled the pain and put me further away from my reality. The act of drinking itself was a nice distraction; keeping the bottle steady, trying not to spill when we went around curves or over rough surfaces, keeping the liquid in my mouth on larger gulps.

It took a while, but at last the happy numbness crept in. My aches remained, though I noticed them less and less. I just kept pulling from the bottle more and more whilst awaiting total oblivion; the oblivion I was not granted the night before, but hopefully my weakened state would allow for it now. The fire in my body slowly cooled, everything took a haze, and I remember wanting to take a little nap. I briefly recalled feeling the cushion against my back and hearing some clacking of hooves and creaking of the frame, feeling some light shifting of my form though it was all minor details. Eventually my recollections dwindled to nothing, a state of nothingness I had wanted all along.

The time, plot, and scenery held no meaning; such a pleasant rest from everything. My oblivion broke slightly with Edward's nasty bristled moustache closer to my face than I ever wanted and remembering hearing something to the effect of "Can you walk, young sir?" Right after that I felt a lot of pulling and the sensation of walking on clouds for feet. I guessed that Edward may have been propping me up and helping me walk. The smell of old snuff practically against my face made me want to wretch, though I lacked the strength to do it.

My eyes were mostly closed this time, though I thought I recognized some shrubs then a few rugs and paintings. I remember opening my eyes for a moment and seeing someone familiar, the name Matthew crossed my mind for a moment. Oh god did he look fat in that burgundy coat, fatter than usual. I remember being slightly amused by how his jaw dropped and how he blinked a few times. I heard a few sounds and the thought crossed my mind to say how I got this way. I don't remember if I said anything, I just remember walking on another cloud. I recall nothing after that, I was finally in my peaceful oblivion.

I received some small flashes of awareness, mostly feeling my body encased in down and soft cotton. Then my world exploded in pain, everything was a mass of hot aches again, the horrible reality returning. I remember the taste of bitter wine passing my lips and the searing burn slowly melted back into the silence I so longed for. Occasionally the ache returned, though it was growing duller and duller. It was at the point where I got used to it, experiencing it dwindle with each passing moment and then floating back to sleep.

Sometimes I would recall the shuffling of someone next to me, the light tough of a hand on my shoulder, and the taste of that same bitter wine. Sometimes I heard a man speaking my name, eventually I recognized the questions: "Can you hear me Grell," "Are you in any pain, boy." I then began realizing my eyes would open. Despite the darkness of my surroundings, I recognized the wallpaper and wardrobe in my room before going back to sleep. I would open my eyes again and realize they would stay a bit wider, the stinging dwindled and I looked on bright sunlight for a moment as my own blackness returned.

I started seeing the man in my room, gradually realizing the name Dr. Adler, our family physician. He would lean into my face first, then I would see him looking down at my body. Out of the corner of my eye I would see a white bandage wrapped around my torso and feel another wrapping on my head. He would ask if I was in pain, I finally recall telling him "Not as much." He took out a bottle of medicine and put a drop into some liquid.

"You're needing less, you are healing remarkably, my boy," I remember him saying, though everything was an echoing haze. He soon put the glass to my lips and I choked down the medicine before going out again.

At last I opened my eyes and had full realization of where I was. I was tired and weak yes but everything felt real. My eyes did a gradual sweep of my surroundings. Dull light shone through my window, I guessed it was closer to afternoon. I laid in bed, body wrapped in dull aches with every breath I took, though this was nothing like before. This state seemed a bit more manageable. The clock on the wall read 4, I watched it turn another half hour and actually started feeling restless. At last my door opened and Dr. Adler walked in, a smile coming across his face upon seeing my eyes open.

"You're looking a bit more present," he said.

"I'm feeling a bit more present," I said with a little more awareness.

He came over and checked my wounds. I looked down and saw many of the black and blue marks faded with a yellowish tinge.

"You're a lucky young man," he said. "A beating like that should have killed you."

He only smiled at my perturbed expression.

"Grell, you cannot hide what happened, as a matter of fact you told the Baron something to that effect," the doctor said. "I could only examine you and give my full professional opinion."

I relaxed and grimaced. I didn't remember a damn thing I said and it bothered me more than a little. If there would be repercussions for anything that came out of my mouth in that numb moment, it was my bed to lie in.

"What was the whole damage," I asked.

"From the looks of it you may have had a bruised kidney, you were urinating blood for a day but none since," he said. "I would add a bruised stomach to that mix too and at least two broken ribs. I had to sew up a cut on your forehead, it will be a few more days before I can remove the stitches. The rest was superficial, though I'm not seeing signs of anything increasingly serious. All your swelling has gone down and your functions have been normal."

"How long have I been back?"

"Three days. I let you sleep off the wine, given the extent of your injuries I gave you a little laudanum at a time to stave off the pain and let you rest while you healed. You needed less and less of it each time, I was impressed."

Three days. Three days to rest from the hell I went through in peace, how long that peace would last remained to be seen.

"I appreciate your efforts," I said. "Though I think I can manage on my own now."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, getting up. "Is there anything you would like? I would advise against any strong liquor."

"A glass of cider," I said. "Oh and could you hand me a book from the shelf, nothing in particular."

"Certainly," he said.

He walked to the shelf and picked up Chaucer, gently handing it to me before leaving. I opened it right away and started reading, my attention slightly drifting but more in a relaxed manner. I had just finished "The Knight's Tale" and started "The Miller's Tale" when I heard the door open again. David walked in with a glass on a tray, I was hardly surprised to see Matthew coming in a few steps behind him as if simply slipping in. I closed my book and casually looked up at my brother, readying myself for the ensuing deluge.

David put my drink on the side table and gave a small bow before exiting straightaway, a truly wise man. Matthew watched as he exited the room and closed the door, then approaching my bed.

"Seeing you awake and recuperating warms my heart," he said, his tone feigned warmth yet the tension was plain. "We were dreadfully worried, you gave us a nasty scare."

"I do indeed feel fortunate," I said.

Matthew took a seat in the chair beside my bed.

"What happened to you, brother," he said, putting on his mask of concern when he likely wanted to add in a few of his own punches. "I am awaiting your arrival, and then David reports you are home but gravely injured, then I go out to find you in such a state. Words cannot express my horror at that moment, and the only explanation I have is some slurred, barely coherent words from your lips."

"Quite honestly, I barely remember anything from that moment," I said.

"Yes, such is to be expected given your state," he said, those eyes of ice settling on me. "I asked what happened to you, you said, and I quote," the way he paused and cleared his throat told me it must have been ghastly, "'Rammed by a bunch of rich bung-lickers.'" The look on his face upon saying this was glorious. "Dr. Adler told me in no uncertain terms that you had been subject to a savage beating, so those few incoherent words are all I have to explain what brought you to this."

I looked away for a moment, truly not wanting to be in such a situation at all.

"I have gone over and over in my head to whom you would be referring," he said. "I can only get a more accurate picture from you. Tell me Grell, what happened."

I saw no reason why he shouldn't have some hint of the truth. Naturally the whole situation was none of his affair, though the immediate details were straightforward enough.

"The night before I was to return home, my mates and I had a little going-away celebration at the pub," I said, clearly uncomfortable. "We got into the barrel quite nicely, I won't lie to you about that. Unbeknownst to me, there had been a few rumors circling about for a while, a few stories about me going behind my back and some shifting loyalties. We left the village back for school, a few conversations start — granted drunken conversations. Next thing I know a few more words are being exchanged with a more heated tone, a few insults are being hurled, I get into a row with one person that turns into five people. It was then when I realized how serious my situation was and how matters had gone completely out of control. I was at the center of a gauntlet, everything exploding all around me. I managed to get away and practically crawled to my room to lick my wounds."

Matthew listened thoughtfully and nodded.

"Boys will be boys, though boys' play can turn tragic," he said. "Let this be a lesson to you, intemperance is a deadly vice. You cannot control those around you, though you can take responsibility for your own actions."

"It is a lesson I shall not be forgetting easily," I said, meaning every word of it.

"Are you in any kind of trouble, Grell," he said. "Do you owe any debts, do you have any adversaries, perhaps was a woman involved?"

If only it were a couple gambling debts and a lay with some farmer's daughter; this would be so much simpler.

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you brother," I said. "It was simply carelessness."

"Grell this is the second time you have come home with injuries due to carelessness," he said. "I cannot help but think this is becoming a trend, in fact it has grown worse. What state will you be in next time you come home? Is being carted back in a pine box the next course? I was once a young man like you, all of your brothers were and we all understand the temptations of youth. You need structure in your life, Grell; guidance. As Jacob told you at Christmas, we will be taking more of an interest in your dealings. This becomes all the more important given recent events."

I simply nodded, none of this was a surprise.

"Right now though, you must rest," Matthew said. "Your health is important."

He rose from his seat and walked for the door.

"Take care of yourself, brother," he said.

"Yes, I shall."

He opened the door and started to walk out before turning around.

"And I agree with you, that burgundy coat did not flatter my form," he said, a dung-eating smirk forming on his face.

I looked up puzzled at first, though a recollection answered everything. Perhaps my private thoughts at the moment had not been so private, though he was not telling me entirely what I said.

Matthew and the rest of the house left me to heal from my wounds. Over the next week he occasionally poked his head back in, at one point the lady of the house paid me a visit as well. Robert came by once, he had just turned 13 and was already holding himself like more of a man. I accepted all their visits graciously and looked forward to my own time.

I caught up on some real sleep and did a little more reading, finding this recuperation gave me all the time I needed to cool my nerves. I found a renewed sense of calm away from the constant upsurge of dealings at school. I endeavored to treat this whole summer in such a way, perhaps by then I would be ready to return to school and face the wolves. In the meantime I would pay them no thought.

There was one matter that would present itself soon I was sure of it. Matthew said Jacob was coming up from London in the next week and would want to pay me a visit, an offhand comment I was sure was an immediate warning of the fate of my summer. As much as I previously dreaded the thought of being under their command, at present I was actually curious about the opportunity. Perhaps working could be a more pleasant experience than the conspiracies and drudgery of school, then again it held its own conspiracies and drudgery of which my brothers were masters. I looked forward to any alternative to what I just came out of.

After a week spent essentially in bed, I started gathering the strength to get up a little bit; slowly of course and nothing too strenuous. My bruises were gradually becoming less colorful and took on more of a purplish-yellow hue. Dr. Adler told me full recovery could take as much as a month and to not push myself; I really intended to do nothing of the sort. By the middle of the next week I took up my violin again, I also took out a set of charcoals I had been neglecting for a while and started some sketching.

Sure enough by the end of the second week Matthew floated through my doorway with Jacob close behind him. I greeted him politely, "How was London" and all the usual nonsense. He gave the standard, "I heard about your condition, I'm glad to see you recovering." I just wanted then to get the bloody hell on with it, speak your demands and shove off.

"Grell, I've been hearing some talk around London about a rather tragic matter," Jacob said, taking a seat next to me.

I felt the sweat bead up over my body. It had been two weeks since Reg's death, he had likely been buried by now. By now word of Marquis Kirkney's son dying, the son of a close adviser to the king, was all over London if not most of the nobility.

"You are likely aware of this, but a student at King's Crest died right before his graduation," Jacob said, "a young man named Reginald Kirkney. His father is Roger, the Marquis Kirkney, the ambassador to Naples. Rumor has it young Reginald took his own life, this is unofficial word of course but you know how things can slip out. Grell, were you at all familiar with Reginald Kirkney? Was he an acquaintance of yours?"

I took a moment to choose my words, feeling their gazes upon me. I had nothing to lose with a little more honesty.

"He was one of my closest friends," I said, feeling the back of my throat close a little. "Reg was like a brother to me."

Matthew and Jacob exchanged a glance, expressions stiff.

"I was in the dining hall right before graduation when my friends and I were summoned to the headmaster's office," I said. "Master Morris and a constable from the village told us about Reg, they even read us the note he left."

"A suicide note," Matthew said.

I nodded, receiving a sigh and a head shake in return.

"He was a lively lad, though he had been acting different, more melancholy," I said. "His father was taking him to Naples this summer, he was also promised to a second cousin and their marriage was set for autumn. I do not believe he was looking much forward to his future."

A silence lingered between us or a moment.

"My deepest condolences, brother," Matthew said putting a hand to his chest. You have been through such a tragedy."

"Did this have any bearing on your fellows, the ones who took their fists to you," Jacob said.

"All of us had our own emotions after learning of Reg's death," I said. "We were all a bit angrier, a bit more desperate to drown our sorrows. We were a powder keg by the end of the night, all it took were a few words about who never cared for Reg to set the spark."

"The rumors and backdoor whispers you talked about," Matthew said.

"Exactly," I said. "Everything exploded."

"Grell, you have our full support," Matthew said. "Should you need any kindness in your mourning, you have it from all your brothers. Counsel is available, whether from a cleric or your own family; know that."

"I can only echo those sentiments, brother," Jacob said.

"I thank you greatly," I said.

I was glad when they finally left my bloody room, though I was surprised I was able to take a nap right after. They were a bit gentler on me in the days that passed, gazes attentive and voices soft. There were a few more recitations of "You have my counsel should you need it." What was glaringly obvious was how little of the subject I heard discussed, though I was sure it was the talk of the house. They were likely roasting Reg as a mortal sinner away from my ears and putting on their sad faces the moment they entered my room.

I was curious as to what rumors were going around about Reg and who was spreading them, perhaps if I was among the conversations. Thad and the rest would know better than to make their little quarrel with me public; the second I got wind of it, they just knew I would parade my wounds around accompanied by some naming of names. They had only accusations, whereas physical marks carried a little bit more credence. Thaddeus was absolutely right about one thing: if I was dragged in as a murderer, I would make sure all the rest followed me to the gallows as sodomites. If that did occur, Matthew was better off strangling me in my sleep then watching me strangle on the noose for my last words would be to greet my house publicly before I was strung up.

Matters remained quiet for the next two weeks, I was given the time I needed to heal my wounds and relax. Matthew and Jacob were likely waiting until I was given clearance to run before yoking me. I gradually felt better, my bruises fading, my strength and energy returning. It hurt less to breathe, meaning my ribs were knitting. I started taking little walks around the manor that were longer and longer. I went out fishing again, catching the occasional perch and preparing them normally. I found for the first time I actually appreciated this little hobby.

At last Dr. Adler removed the last of my bandages and pronounced me in full health; I would still need to refrain from overexerting myself for a little while and should not take to horseback again for another month to be safe. The very next day, David summoned me for tea with the baron and Master Jacob. I knew very well what they wanted, may as well have it over with.

David escorted me to the drawing room pulled out a seat for me right in front of them. They got up and greeted me warmly, sitting back down for David to pour me a cup and the two to go back to their sipping and munching on scones. I had no appetite whatsoever, though sipped my tea to give myself something to do. David left and closed the door, I barely paid attention to my brothers' polite pleasantries and just wanted them to speak their peace.

"Grell, we asked you to join us because we have a proposal to make," Matthew finally said. "You are going to be 17 later this year, you are very much a man now. It is time to take steps toward your future, time to see what career you would be best suited for. And laying around the house all summer will not be an option, you need to do something a bit more productive with your time."

I listened like a statue, trying to keep a neutral expression and await my fate.

"And no this does not mean a whole summer spent in a stuffy office," Jacob added with a laugh. "This is more about family and an opportunity for you to share our family's prosperity. In the past 10 years, Sutcliff Agricultural, Ltd. has grown beyond all comprehension. We have already opened an office in Birmingham and setting sites on other locations, including outside England. The Birmingham office is managed by a close partner of ours and we are looking at our other partners for further expansion. However, we want to keep as much of the company in the Sutcliff family as possible."

"My son Isaac will learn the ropes of the company, as he will inherit everything when I shove off this mortal coil," Matthew said. "Though he just only turned 15; I would rather he focus on growing to be a young man, learn the ways of the world before giving him such an opportunity. You are already a fine young man, Grell Sutcliff; a man of art and intelligence who is still in the process of growth. You are the future of our family's company, and our family's company has been most prosperous. It is only appropriate that we share this prosperity with one of our own."

"We may as well get to the particulars, I know you're anxious for the punchline," Jacob said with his usual smarmy smile. "Grell, I will travel back to London in a week's time and I would very much like for you to join me. I will show you the company, give you ample opportunity to get your fingers in our work; see where your niche is. Or perhaps you will realize our company is not suitable for your future, we are not going to claim your eternal soul just to satisfy our whims."

Somehow I doubted that.

"I promise you, your place is not on the line with the low class rabble nor is your place at a desk soaking your hands in ink," Jacob continued. "Your place is in the day to day management of our family legacy; looking at the nuts and bolts that keep this company running, even dreaming up new ideas."

"All we're asking is for six weeks, brother; six weeks in London and then you are free to your own devices," Matthew said. "You will be expected to work and there might be some hard work, yet it is all to your benefit. We will give you a healthy salary for time as well as a private apartment. You will have personal time to enjoy London, though you will have a reasonable curfew and have to report to Jacob. This is not a holiday, this is important business. If you treat this like a holiday, there will be stiff consequences."

I believed I was just warned.

"Though I'm not there to be your nanny or your chaperone, just think of me as your supervisor," Jacob said.

"Indeed," Matthew said. "Are you agreeable to these conditions?"

Choice was not a part of this at all, that much had been clear to me for the longest time. Regardless, the prospect of a summer in London made my heart flutter in pure joy. I could never trust Jacob for any reason, though I imagined he welcomed the prospect of showing his little brother all the pleasures and sins of London. He was a gentleman rake and likely wanted an apprentice. Then again he could have locked me in a closet after hours, though somehow I thought this would be a bit too boring for his tastes. I had been sparing with the use of my allowance and had much of my own money in case this little prospect turned to look less rosy than it was presented. I found I might have more to benefit from this situation than I realized.

"I am indeed," I replied. "I am very much looking forward to this opportunity."


	14. Part 14

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 14**

I believe this was a different carriage from the one in which I writhed in pain and numbed my senses with wine; this one was clearly larger but with that same lovely red cushioning. This was Jacob's carriage and Jacob's personal driver, though I knew no other rides would be taken with Edward; Matthew told me Edward was sacked for incompetence. He should have reported my injuries to the school without question, or at least stopped the carriage to check back and see if I were still alive. I really didn't feel like advocating for anyone, it was Matthew's decision and that was that.

I believe this driver's name was Simon, though I barely looked at him. I would rather he were in this carriage than Jacob; I had to practically stare at the bastard the whole time. It was good exercise; I was going to have to report to him every day for the next six weeks anyway, may as well get used to his smarmy face. Jacob was kind enough not to try to engage me in too much conversation. I was under the impression he understood how much I loathed my family, likely that was why he mostly kept quiet.

There were a few words on what to expect when we arrived in London. I would be staying at his townhouse in which I had my own apartment. Naturally he would be paying attention to my comings and goings. He had a full staff of servants there that were at my disposal as much as his. He did want me joining him occasionally for dinner, though that was apparently to my discretion. There were a couple words about what I would enjoy in London; the city was ripe with art and culture perfect for a "cultured man" such as myself.

According to him I would spend the first night getting acclimated, the next day would be my first at the factory. It was the season in London and he wanted me to join him on many of his social invitations to get the feel for the culture. He had quite a few people to which he wanted to introduce me; fortunately he made no reaction to my silence on the matter. He didn't say much aside from this brief introduction, he just left me be for a while. I was hardly surprised when that while ended.

"I hope you do realize how important this opportunity is for you, and I'm not only talking about your future," he said. "The baron and I have high hopes that this will be a good experience."

I had an odd feeling what this was about; just what would happen if I let them down?

"I have to be honest with you, Grell, everyone in your family is worried about you," Jacob said. "I have been exchanging correspondence with Elijah and he is also gravely concerned."

"Might I ask what is of particular concern," I said, probably my first words spoken through the whole journey.

"Your health, your well being," he said. "Grell, we know you have endured more in this past year than men should, let alone a man of such a tender age."

He was right and I hated him for it.

"There is no shame in sorrow and you have experienced it three times over just in the past few months," Jacob said. "One after another. I know the pain you feel for Oskar and mother, though it is probably so much more for you given how close you were to both of them. Now you lose your close friend to his own hand."

I was starting to make a couple connections.

"Are you concerned I too will take my own life?" I said.

"The thought has come up in conversation," he said. "We know you have been drowning your sorrows in the most destructive ways."

An uncomfortable pause followed. I knew he was readying himself to say something else and giving me some warning.

"Grell, I was aware of your friendship with Lord Kirkney before leaving London," Jacob said.

My immediate thought was panic, though I cooled myself quickly and maintained my calmly detached demeanor. This was only normal; someone's family member probably knew Jacob and mentioned something about me at some point.

"That isn't exactly a surprise," I said.

"A close associate of mine has a son at King's Crest," Jacob said. "I spoke with him shortly before leaving, right when news of Reginald's death reached London. My associate, who I am not comfortable naming, told me Reginald had a bit of a reputation as a bully. Apparently your name has come up as a co-conspirator."

I gave a small chuckle in response. I should have expected this; Jacob had his nose up the backsides of as many nobles as he could fit. Many of these nobles likely had wards at King's Crest, it was only inevitable someone would snitch especially after Reg's death.

"You don't look surprised, nor do you look offended by such allegations," Jacob said. "I'll take it what was said has a ring of truth."

"I really do not have much else to say to that," I said.

"I understand," he said. "Matthew is aware of these allegations as well."

Hardly a surprise either.

"We are not cross with you Grell, only concerned," he continued. "Matthew and I have discussed this at length. Both of us sincerely hope this experience will provide an outlet for you, not to mention some time in a much more lively place than the walls of a manor or a school. I hope you share our view."

"I certainly do," I said, realizing it was not a forced statement. "I am looking forward to this experience."

Jacob looked out the window, I knew more was coming.

"We want nothing more than to provide you with a healthy, constructive environment," he said. "Matthew and I spoke of another matter that he was adamant about waiting to discuss with you until near the end of the summer. I have argued that you have every right to know now to understand the sheer scope of our concerns."

"And what matter is that," I said, feeling a little more tense.

"You need to promise me you will not tell your brother what I have told you, he is convinced it would not be good for you to know this though I feel the opposite," he said.

"You have my word," I said. Bloody hell what was this about.

"Matthew and I agree it would be best if you did not return to King's Crest," he said.

I was mildly stunned by this revelation, though my heart quickly warmed. That reaction was soon replaced with grave concern; just what the hell did they have in mind for me.

"We feel it may be a toxic environment for you," Jacob said. "Matthew has received nothing but high reports from the school on your comportment and your academic achievements. However we now know some of your activities at the school against the other students, then your close friend takes his own life and your fellows turn on you. All this whilst you have endured the passing of Oskar and mother. Sending you back next term would be unwise in our view."

"Have you discussed alternatives?" I said.

"Likely another school for your last year, though we have not given much thought to those details. Matthew wanted you to take this summer to put your focus on other things, see how you react before making any decisions. He would rather you were not aware of our discussion, though I believe you have every right to know now. This is the gravity of our concern, Grell. Our only interest is your health, though your future is in your own hands. You need to be aware that we are watching your progress carefully, and I advise you to mind your own."

The message was clear; another form of warning. As much as I was relieved by the thought of never returning to King's Crest, my chest tightened with the reality of how in limbo I was. I was essentially in their control…no, I couldn't think like this.

I believe it was at that moment when the realization dawned on me: allowing myself to be a slave to anyone's whims was the worst thing I could do. I needed to be in a state where I was under no one's control but my own. Regardless of what these bastards had in mind, I could not allow myself to be dragged to my own slaughter. I had to find every advantage I could. My mind raced with the possibilities; the fear to the exhilaration of what else there was. This little summer position could very well be the keys to that liberation.

If my brothers spoke the truth, I would be getting some money from this. I would have to find a way to store some aside should I need it. Perhaps direct exposure to business practices would help me gain those mental tools. Plus I was smack dab into London; how easy would it be to disappear? It all sounded like madness in my brain, but madness that I needed to keep me happy. I knew then I needed to form a contingency plan, in the meantime I would keep an open mind on what awaited as long as it played in my favor.

Perhaps I could allow some benefit of the doubt for now. Perhaps my nerves could benefit from some constructive activity; taking my thoughts away from the hurly burley that had been the past year. If Jacob spoke correctly, I would not have to fret over the promised hell of returning to King's Crest. I had ample time to focus on the present and let the past fade away. I was going to spend the summer in London after all. I recalled that I hadn't been to London in a long time, in fact I believe my last time was with mother. I recall we went to an art exhibit and had tea at this quaint shop. I could think of worse places to recover my health than such a splendid city.

We arrived in London by early evening, grand towers amid a sea of rooftops simply beckoning to us from the road. The carriage slowly made its way closer and closer and the city laid her arms wide for us, welcoming me like an old friend. I could smell the perfume and wood smoke of the grand city, savored every bump over cobblestones or holes in the dirt. Even the huddled, dirty masses added to the character.

The carriage shortly entered an area lined with lovely townhouses, Jacob informed me we were in the district of Westminster and a few blocks from our destination. At last we stopped in front of a tall, red brick building lined with windows and a series or doorways. We both stepped down from the carriage and Jacob led the way to a door near the center of the building, pulling out a key.

"Welcome to your new home," he said grandly, turning the key and opening the door.

I walked in behind him and entered a grand lobby adorned with mahogany trim, simple white wallpaper with a silver filigree pattern, and furniture of subtle, yet rich styling. It advertised itself as the home of a wealthy man straining himself to look modest whilst still bragging in the same breath. A uniformed man descended the stairs and greeted us. Jacob introduced him as his butler Benjamin, Benjamin bowed and merrily told me he was at my disposal.

Jacob took me through the hallways with the same simple styling save for the addition of some crystal chandeliers and rich art pieces. I met a few more of the servants during the grand tour. At last he brought me to my apartment on the second floor; it immediately crossed my mind how convenient the placement was. I would have to descend the stairs to go out anywhere and there were so many servants to report to Master Jacob should they be instructed to look for any late night wanderings.

We arrived on the second floor and Jacob pulled out another key to unlock a door near the stairs. He opened it and led me into a wide sea of red. My eyes fixed on the red wallpaper with the gold floral pattern, gradually pulling back to the grand furnishings. A black velvet couch rested on one side of the wall with many similarly dressed chairs. There was a small dining table off to the side with chairs, all black and carved with gold leaf details. A gold-trimmed fireplace took up one smaller wall in the middle of mahogany bookcases. My shoes slid across the black flowered rug on the pristinely polished floor. I believe I stood for a moment in awe, for I looked back at Jacob to see him chuckling a bit.

Jacob walked across the floor to an open door. Inside was a modest sized bedroom with yellow wallpaper and rich red curtains. A lush canopy bed with red and black curtains and cream colored linens sat to the side of the room.

"It is to your liking, if I understand correctly," Jacob said.

"Most certainly," I said, the wind not yet returned to me. "This is beyond brilliant."

"That pleases me," he said. "I will confess the adornments are not an accident."

Reality slowly settled in a bit more. I knew what he was going to say next.

"This space was a bit dull before, I mostly used it to house guests before more rooms were finished," he said. "I knew this would be the perfect space for you, so I took the liberty of looking through your wardrobe and looking at the curtains already in your room and caught a bit of a theme."

They knew I would be penned up in here whether I liked it or not, might as well decorate the cage to make the animal feel at home.

"I am honored, brother," I said. "I adore what you've done here."

We reconvened in the dining room for a full supper. I endeavored to be as polite and attentive as I could with Jacob. Fortunately conversation was kept to idle chit chat about sports and the weather. I turned in to my quarters soon after, Jacob giving me copies of both the front door and apartment keys. My brother advised me to not wander out too much in the next week; London can be a dangerous place to those unfamiliar with where to walk or how to conduct oneself. Jacob said once I gained my bearings, and he promised with a laugh it would happen soon enough, he said I would be held to a midnight curfew but advised to be in earlier. Benjamin would be waking me for breakfast promptly at 7:30 and Jacob and I would board the carriage to the factory no later than 9 o'clock.

I didn't concern myself with the current rules for I actually had little desire to go out that night; preferring a night of rest and settling my effects. London would await me another night. I supervised the placement of my effects in the apartment and sat down for some reading over tea the moment the servants cleared the room. Jacob left me alone save for one knock on my door to explain the location of the bell to call Benjamin. I turned in around 10, my body encased in the luxurious silk and down of my bed linens.

I opened my eyes to first light to see the clock at 7. I decided to rise and start dressing when Benjamin knocked on the door at 7:30. I took a nice breakfast with coffee in my room. Benjamin was a most able butler, delivering my food and taking my requests with a smile. I grew up with David's perpetual stodginess and the way he shifted his eyes from everything. David likely had rougher employment than Benjamin, perhaps Jacob was much more pleasant than Matthew though anyone would be more pleasant than father. Benjamin by contrast had a spring in his step and a jovial word, I don't believe I had ever heard a merry chuckle from a butler before.

I joined Jacob downstairs around 8 readying myself to embark on my first day at the company. A part of me was genuinely curious for the experience, another part wanted to just get this the bloody hell over with and kill the mystery. Jacob told me he was going to introduce me to our family's company brick by brick over the next six weeks. In the meantime I should find what interested me the most for it might hold the promise of a future career.

Our carriage went through posh street after posh street, at last stopping by a wide block and a pristine stone building; the central offices of Sutcliff Agriculture. We entered stately building and ascended a staircase, then entered through a door to a bustle of activity. Desks were occupied, walls lined with schematic drawings, maps, figures, all sorts of charts and illustrations. Jacob gave me a tour of the office, showing where each department was located, introducing me to a number of employees from lowly clerks to accountants and other executives hanging about.

The introduction was always the same:

"This is my younger brother Grell Sutcliff, he is learning the ropes of the family business and will be working in this office. Please refer to him as 'Mr. Sutcliff' and pay him every respect."

It felt more than disingenuous; a little egg such as myself was to hold the same respects as the president of the company and only by blood. How did I know Jacob wasn't just putting on a show for my face and cutting me down behind my back: "He's a worthless child, though at least try to smile and nod at his presence."

The Westminster office had become the central hub of operations for the company, I learned. All accounting, research and development, public relations, and all the rest of the day to day management was in this office. There was a large factory in the East End, though Jacob only visited when necessary; he didn't specify why at the time. Matthew still oversaw the original factory in Boreham near our manor and of course there was the office in Birmingham that had been described earlier.

Most of the day was spent with brief descriptions of what work was done by each department. I was surprised at how attentive I was through these hours of discussions and pleasantries, or perhaps I was gaining so much pleasure from hearing each department manager talk to me as if I were a small boy wearing a suit or a uniform and trying to act like an adult. Many men had established their families, households, and businesses by the time they were my age, yet that seemed to slip from the awareness of these nags. It slowly dawned on me this response had more to do with who was practically leaning over my shoulder the whole time.

Near the end of the day Jacob kept me busy filing some papers and making a few lists with a clerk named Donald. Donald seemed a pleasant enough gentleman, until he gave me some comment to the effect of "I'm surprised you've been allowed to write with your improper hand." It took all I could not to glare at him for that cheeky comment, until I looked at the quill naturally poised in my left hand. Funny, this was the first time I had ever gotten a truly off-putting comment on my preferred hand other than a few ribs by my schoolmates. Mother always called it a trifle and no one else seemed to give a damn, apparently this bugger was going to make something more of it. I made sure to flex my wrist a little more when writing and present my quill grander, shoving my sinister hand practically in his face.

I was mildly relieved when Jacob fetched me around 5 and we returned to the townhouse. Despite my reservations on that first day, I was actually surprised by how curious I was to see more. This was my brother's hornet's nest, though I was brought in as another member of the nest. There seemed to be so many little crannies to explore; perhaps it was less of a hornet's nest and more of a beehive. Perhaps I was fascinated with the prospect of being in the center of all this activity, even if the drones enjoyed showing off their stingers a bit more.

I said something of the same effect to Jacob, yet in a more pleasant manner. He assured me there would be much more to explore. I did made an offhand comment about Donald's little observation. He kept his calm expression when he told me he would speak to him. I had a feeling this would not end well, though it was not my problem. Jacob promptly turned the conversation to a small dinner party to which he had been invited with a group of business associates; he wanted me to join him so he could show me off to some of his friends. It was a good opportunity to get out, playing the young businessman from the countryside new in London could also get me some suggestions on what to do on my own in this grand city.

We went back to the new home and dressed for what I was told would be a modest gathering. I still kept with finer clothing; after all I wanted to make a good impression. Jacob even complimented me on my choice of outfit before we boarded the carriage. Our journey took us a short ways further to a rather richly styled section Jacob told me was called Mayfair. We stopped at this lovely townhouse of a bit more pristine exterior than Jacob's, perhaps these sods had a bit more money. Jacob told me this was the home of someone named Arthur Meriwether, an old colleague.

We were met at the door by an ancient butler who politely took us inside. I could hear the music and smell the roast duck upon entering. We entered a grand drawing room with a few other people Jacob immediately began to chat up, giving me the standard introductions. I played the part of the perfect young gentleman; laughing at all the right cues and responding to witty conversation with my own.

Jacob continued to introduce me, though I was more comfortable responding with some of my own conversation and introductions. After a little while I was introducing myself as Jacob's little brother out to see London. I was a complete success, engaged in my own conversations across the room whilst sipping from a glass or two of burgundy. I would occasionally see Jacob look over and give me a wink and smile, apparently he was pleased with what he saw.

I subtly asked for some recommendations on how to keep my time occupied in this little hamlet, receiving an invitation from this one gentleman join his party for the exclusive opening of a production of "Romeo and Juliet" on Drury Lane. There were a few other invitations to the opera and to the symphony. Here I was a day in London and already in demand.

Jacob and I departed late in the evening, I received nothing but pats on the back when I got back into the carriage.

"You were brilliant in there, brother," Jacob said with a chuckle. "I am sitting with a man who will be the talk of London soon."

Naturally I acted humble.

We arrived home and I went straight to bed, this first day was pleasantly exhausting. Benjamin woke me at 7:30 for breakfast and the routine started again. I believe I walked into that office with my head a bit higher, going in there like a man taking on the world.

Today Jacob wanted me to work with the account mangers to see some day to day operations. I decided to pay close attention, watching the flow of numbers and calculations. I was always good at mathematics, though I wanted to watch how these numbers worked in real time. I did run into Donald in the hallway, who bowed and gave me his most humble apologies for offending me the other day. He looked a bit flustered, Jacob's doing I was sure. I took no small amount of pleasure from watching him sweat.

At the end of the day I left the office much more satisfied than the previous day. I actually engaged in a bit more conversation with my brother that night. We supped at home and then he wanted me to join him for a meeting with some of his managers over drinks at this gentleman's club in St. James's.

This occasion was a bit less festive, mostly older men discussing figures and markets in this lavish room. I felt a bit more out of place here, but endeavored to adapt to my surroundings. I did strike up some conversation with the gentlemen and molded myself a bit more to the environment. Jacob noted when we left that he knew it was not exactly the most fun place for someone my age, though complimented me on my adaptation. Perhaps I was becoming a bit of a social butterfly, a shape changer able to adapt into any situation. That's what Renaissance men do, I suppose.

A similar scenario played out for the third day with me working in a different part of the office, this time learning about shipment management. Jacob hosted a small gathering at the townhouse that night drawing a few more businessmen and noble investors. The conversations were almost the same as the previous nights, I could practically memorize a script for each conversation. This continued for a few more days, though we actually had one night to stay in. I was bored to tears by the end of that night.

Friday was the last day of the week for Jacob and for me in turn, though I overheard a few conversations in the office about "My turn to do the shift these two days." Jacob said he left the company in able hands while he, its president, took some well-needed rest. I was almost willing to volunteer for a few more days in order to have something to do. Thankfully it was the day I received my first check and it was indeed a generous one.

At the end of the day Jacob took me to a bank to open an account in my name. Judging by how chummy Jacob was with the bank president when we entered, it was clear he had ample opportunity to examine my finances. I did pay attention to the process, minding every conversation with the banker and every detail. One never knows when I would need to take the opportunity to open my own account away from prying eyes.

Fortunately that Friday night was my first solo social engagement, that night on Drury Lane of "Romeo and Juliet" with a Lord Lacey and his party. Jacob gave me some background on my host for the evening, telling me he was indeed a good man though a little shaky with his finances and had a poor relationship with his son. I filed these points away whilst preparing though I really didn't care. Jacob saw me off with the carriage, giving me a pat on the back and advising me not to touch the gin.

I took the opportunity during my journey to look at London from my own perspective and not that of one merely being lead around.

I arrived at the theater and stepped out with the air of a duke arriving at his castle. I met with Lord Lacey soon after and exchanged the usual pleasantries. He was accompanied by a small group of people, including a young raven-haired girl on his arm with wide blue eyes.

"Mr. Sutcliff, this is my niece Anne, Anne this is Mr. Grell Sutcliff," he said to both of us.

I bowed, she curtseyed a little.

"Would you mind escorting her tonight, Mr. Sutcliff, she is a theater enthusiast herself and I'm sure you two would have much to discuss," his lordship said.

It was rather obvious where this was going. I politely took her hand and kissed it, telling her I would be honored to share her company that evening. We entered the theater to Lord Lacey giving me ample introduction of how successful my family's business was with a few not-so subtle hints about his niece's intelligence and talent on the piano.

I watched the performance in rapt awe, feeling the lady's hand clutching mine during the more passionate moments of the play. It had to be the best production of this tragedy I had ever seen. I briefly recalled that awful dinner theater performance on my 16th birthday and how that was children's work compared to his beauty. This was London theater at its best; the beauty and tragedy coming alive with every word, every gesture, every pressed hand and brandished sword. This was pure art.

Intermission and the final exit after the curtain call were times for a few drinks with the gentlemen as the ladies followed along. I never realized how comfortable I was in such a new environment surrounded by essential strangers. Granted this was the same noble crowd I had been exposed to all week, though I felt I was holding my own court. I took no small amount of pride in this. Anne was a good conversationalist, a little plain but good company. I wanted to leave the clear impression that I was not looking to court anybody and felt I did so politely; giving attention to my escort though also conversing with the rest of the group and not giving her too much attention.

I boarded the carriage at the end of the evening to warm farewells from all and a lovely curtsey from Anne. Lord Lacey invited me to a dinner party he was having in a week and I accepted his invitation. I returned home that night in a good mood. Jacob of course had me relay the details and I obliged over a few glasses of port, including the detail of Lord Lacey's niece.

"Take my advice Grell, don't tie yourself down," Jacob said. "If you indeed fall madly in love with some girl and are damn sure you want to give your life to her, then by all means. Don't do so to keep some bird from being an old maid."

"Probably the wisest advice I have heard," I replied with a grin.

We toasted to this one.

Jacob hosted a few friends for tea on Saturday and then we attended a grander gala later that night. This was the occasion when I was more formally paraded around to more friends. I had such wonderful memories of these galas from my childhood, the way mother would shine like a star and attract all the beautiful people to her. I wanted like nothing else to carry on her legacy at this and I did, though I wished I enjoyed it a bit more. All of these seemed to be the same; the same jokes, the same conversations, the same mannerisms. I was actually thankful when we left for home.

Sunday was devoted to organizing paperwork. By the evening, Jacob passed me his coin to get into a one of his gentleman's clubs; it would be a good experience for me to socialize on my own, he said. The coin went to a club called the Buxbridge Club that welcomed me in. I saw a few other young men there, one of which, a Mr. Sherman, recognized me from a previous gathering and told me what the best liquor was. We sat and had a few glasses, talked about cricket and he educated me a bit on the markets. I just enjoyed a few glasses of brandy, drinking in greedily and feeling as if I had returned to an old friend.

This place had the cozy feeling of Aldeburgh to it, though in a more sophisticated manner. There were no local idiots here nor were there any little boys getting smashed. There were many young men holding drink after drink with their pinkies out. I felt I could get drunk here in the most exquisite of ways. I decided pounding back one after another would have been an ill decision, so I did a lot of sipping. I decided to return home once I felt pleasantly relaxed, dear God how I needed this evening.

Jacob was in bed by the time I returned, though I was well before curfew. Naturally Benjamin gave me a pleasant greeting as he passed through; I was sure he would share this moment with Jacob later though I had nothing to fret. I slept better than I had in a while, though felt a tad bit sluggish when Benjamin woke me the next morning. It was Monday and the routine was starting again.

Monday I was placed in the research and development office, reuniting with Mr. Farrington whom I met at tea before beginning my hellish spring term. I listened as Mr. Farrington and several other men discussed different parts and schematics. This actually held more of my attention. I was invited to chime in at any time on how things could be put to better use; an invitation I accepted. Occasionally an idea was corrected by someone with more knowledge of the mechanics, though it was a pleasant learning process. I actually didn't realize when the clock struck 5 and it was time to return home. I actually was given leave to stay an extra half hour to work out one particular feature on a planter.

By Tuesday, I slightly mourned not being put in that office again; I wanted to watch as these items developed into actual plans to be created. I did tell Jacob I most enjoyed working in that office.

"I thought you would," he only replied, "you have a creative mind."

My training in all the features of Sutcliff Agriculture was just beginning, though he was happy to hear I found something that interested me. Perhaps I would find something that interested me more.

The rest of the week continued as the first; immersing myself in the world of the company by day, social events or the occasional night in. I went to some of my own events, becoming more acquainted with those who were in the upper echelons of London society. Jacob quipped that he would have to make an appointment with me at some time. I slowly grew more and more used to this dance, learning how to play along.

Another Friday passed as did another paycheck in the bank. I was sure to leave myself a generous allowance, though I tried to be careful not to spend too much. I might need that money for other purposes when this life became a bit less cozy. Jacob told me of another gathering at another lavish townhouse held by some Baron whose name I barely paid mind.

"I believe you are going to enjoy this gathering much more than any other," he said. "Don't worry about decorum either, this will only be a night of pure, unadulterated fun. You've certainly earned it."

I was intrigued by the introduction, though more than a bit skeptical. I wondered what "unadulterated fun" was to a member of the aristocracy, then I remembered the parties at Christmas and after mother's funeral. I hoped my instincts were right as to what kind of a gathering it was.

Baron Groves had his own private townhouse in Chelsea, the nearest neighbors were several meters over. We arrived fashionably late to the party, I maintained my usual stiff gait and polite mask approaching the house. The door opened and brought with it the smell of wine and the music of raucous, laughing voices. We entered to a fete of pure abandon; men in their shirtsleeves and women in petticoats with glasses in their hands. Men and women were kissing and groping each other on practically every piece of furniture, gentlemen would throw their glasses at the wall to examine what kind of splash patterns their brandy would make against the white wallpaper. Jacob gave me one glance with a smile before wrapping his arms around some blonde bird who greeted him with a kiss and a drink in his hand. This was indeed my kind of party.

I claimed a glass of whiskey and drank it own like a thirsty man left alone in the desert. Before I knew it I was approached by two ladies with ample bosoms practically spilling from their dresses. One arm wrapped around each of their waists and I was soon kissing them both. I realized how long it has been since I felt a soft touch, kissed full lips, felt the light caress down my chest and over my legs. It didn't even matter to me these were women; creatures with soft curves instead of taut muscles. All that mattered was these were simple pursuits and not collectives of games and betrayal.

One of them had silken spun gold hair, the other had her own soft brown ringlets that tumbled over her shoulders. We went into a side bedroom and I took both of them on this wide bed. It was a glorious tangle of bodies, the feel of sweat-covered flesh and fine Chinese silk. I felt I was liberating my soul; everything outside this moment was nonexistent and I had not a care save for feeling every sensation to its utmost before the final luxurious release.

We all returned to the party arm in arm and they soon skipped off to other misadventures with barely a word. I didn't see Jacob at all in this drunken tangle, he was likely taking care of business of his own. I had a few more whiskeys and kissed a few more female lips, immersing myself in every sensation of the present.

If this was the best of London, it was something I could certainly get used to.

* * *

A few notes  
-I know the term "gentleman's club" is synonymous with "strip club" but that's not the case here. In this case a gentleman's club is an exclusive tavern and assembly place for men of certain wealth and interests.  
-Grell being left-handed is actually canon. Yana has described him being left handed, including her recent blog entry when she said she accidentally drew him right-handed in a recent chapter.


	15. Part 15

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 15**

By another week's time I had come to be at home in this place with this routine. Another week of work completed, another paycheck was in the bank, and Jacob and I were making another round of appointments. By now Jacob was having me do repeated rounds in different departments. At last I returned to the design office with a gleeful step and took my chair amid discussions on a modified slaughter mechanism for goats. I didn't hide my enthusiasm for my day at work.

The tension of my new environment was relaxing itself and letting me settle into my surroundings like a moderately agreeable chair. Just as I got used to the situation, it did not escape me that my experience in London was half over. I didn't care to think much on the matter, though it would occasionally cross my mind what plans were in store for the coming school term. I did not welcome the thought of returning to King's Crest and I would not be if Jacob spoke true. I readied myself for the prospect of any sort of school, though the idea of being put in a school run by the church seemed likely. I needed to learn discipline after all and Elijah just needed to have a word with the right bishop to seal the deal.

Any type of school besides King's Crest Academy — save for military academy or an actual seminary — was a welcome thought. I truly wanted to leave all that nonsense behind me. The thought of running into any of my old schoolmates at some function somewhere or on the street would occur to me on occasion.

Then I attended one party and nearly froze at the sight of wavy dirty-blond hair stuffed into a thick ponytail; I thought I was seeing Lord Harlowe from behind. I took a breath and remembered hearing he would be in France most of the summer, though seeing the man turn around and recognizing the Viscount Georgeford was more than a relief. He greeted me with a handshake and a recommendation of an excellent supper club he had been to recently. I swore I saw Tom's profile in another party crowd, but lost the vision and surely never saw him in the room. My mind playing tricks on me surely. I thought I saw a cascade of brown ringlets and felt my heart leap just before seeing the gorgeous hair actually belonged a well-dressed lady.

It was a normal reaction to such social trauma. I cured these ills by preparing myself for how I would act if suddenly reunited with one of the traitorous lads; I would put on my best polite smile and act like a pure gentleman. I would use a similar strategy should I be confronted with the angry parent of a child I was a little rough on; "My sincerest apologies for causing such ills, I no longer associate myself with such a barbaric lifestyle…" Charm got you everywhere here.

I became a little more curious as to whom Jacob's informant had been; I had been to so many gatherings and no one mentioned a peep to me about such a matter. Perhaps things were being said behind my back to subtly ruin my reputation. In pure honesty this prospect was merely a floating thought that carried little weight even though I knew I now had a reputation I needed to maintain. Though in light of some of the other parties Jacob and I went to, reputation was like a nice coat judged by everyone in the open and tossed on the floor with the rest of your clothes at the right parties. At the end of the night you put it back on and went into the world again like nothing ever happened; perhaps the rest of the world was like this.

I was starting my fourth week in London when the culprit in this mystery was unofficially revealed, though in a way by which I was hardly amused. Jacob and I were taking meat tea one night when he glanced at me over his crumpet with that look that said he needed to speak to me about something important. I put another sardine on my toast and awaited what would be said next. At last he put his crumpet down and looked back at the newspaper, though his glance fell back on me.

"We were invited to an informal gathering in Kensington on Thursday," Jacob said.

I heard him choosing his words wisely and decided it was best if I wait for the final reveal.

"Grell are you familiar with the earldom of Phantomhive?"

Oh balls.

"I believe I have heard the name," I replied calmly, suppressing my surging bile.

I had heard the name connected to a tiny brat with blue-black hair and innocent blue eyes that made the cutest little scowls. He bounced off walls and floors like a little ball. He was ever so much fun to push around and he made a lovely whining noise when you kneed him in the gut.

"I'm sure you have," Jacob said. "Bram, the Earl Phantomhive is a friend of mine. His son Armand attends King's Crest, and I am aware you know well of him."

The way he put his paper down on the table told me the serious part of this conversation was now starting.

"I would like you to attend this gathering," Jacob said. "Earl Phantomhive is fast gaining a reputation for his time spent at the palace and is rather in demand. Invitations such as these only go to a small circle of people and this particular invitation is for the both of us. I am aware, however, that you have not exactly been on the best of terms with his son."

"That is indeed correct, to my sincere regret," I said. "Unfortunately he was on the receiving end of some rudeness by myself and my peers."

"I am glad you admit to it," Jacob said. "Let this be a lesson that any small boy you see as an innocent target could well be an heir to a powerful house that does not take well to threats, or perhaps someone connected to the king who could easily request of his father to let some little bit of information slip to His Majesty."

Jacob relished every opportunity to tear me down.

"I am certainly aware of it now," I said. "It was an error that shall never be repeated. I only hope I can do what I can to redeem myself."

Whatever I can do that doesn't involve groveling or making a fool of myself, that is. I was tempted to ask if Earl Phantomhive was Jacob's informant, though I doubted Jacob would give me a polite answer let alone an affirming one. I decided to stick to my own conclusions and watch my back.

"Spoken like a true gentleman," Jacob said with a smile.

I had really grown to dislike the word "gentleman." Apparently I was one now, I don't know what I did to deserve that other than follow my brother around like a yoked pig.

"The earl assures me he is not cross with you. He merely wants to meet you as a young man of business and not as a juvenile bully he has heard about. Though the earl told me Armand is currently with his mother and siblings at an uncle's country estate, you need not fear any confrontation. This party could mean much for your reputation, Grell; I know you will take this seriously."

We were in the carriage bound for the earl's townhouse early Thursday evening. I was accompanying my brother to this gathering as another guest and would be treated as such. I wasn't being dragged here by the ear like an ill-tempered child forced to make an insincere apology to the father of a boy I roughed up. I didn't know how Jacob saw this, though I couldn't have given a damn.

Earl Phantomhive's townhouse was another lavish home with distant neighbors. Jacob had told me earlier their house was a wealthy one with interests in a sugar plantation in Barbados with some loudly whispered intentions to form a confections company. Earl Bram was a lively man, according to Jacob, with a reputation as an adventurer and someone who easily befriends the rougher denizens of the world. He and his wife could sip wine and converse about the weather at their lavish parties like any nobles, though these private gatherings bring more of a motley crowd. Be prepared for anything, Jacob said with one of his laughs that warned of amusement or annoyance.

We were greeted at the door by a dark-skinned butler with black hair pulled back into a stately ponytail that was adorned with a string with two small feathers and a few beads. He was most polite, his manner of speech was impeccable with a hint of an accent with which I was not familiar. Jacob greeted him warmly and addressed him as Joseph, whispering to me when we entered that Joseph was a tribesman from the American colonies that Earl Phantomhive befriended in his travels. I filed this away with the information on the earl managing a plantation and likely owning slaves; what a great collector of human beings this man was.

I saw more of his collection of personages the moment I entered the room. This was a relatively small gathering of informal dress. I saw a number of the usual nicely dressed nobles along with those of a bit more rustic attire. I heard a mix of dialects even a few more foreign languages than I was used to. I saw men and women drinking from tankards with a few sneaking some sips from flasks. Occasionally I would look down in one direction only to catch full view of a pistol or a sword on someone's belt. It was a slightly disconcerting sight at first, though I warmed to it quickly.

I actually found myself enjoying the company; so much different from the usual noble gathering. It made me think of "The Beggar's Opera" in a sense, a rougher crowd with all the airs of aristocracy. There was a sense of realism to this gathering. I wondered, however, if Earl Phantomhive called all these men and women true friends of just wanted to establish a reputation for being one of the "common man," or better yet he was indeed a true collector of undesirables that amused him.

I received somewhat of an answer to my question upon getting first sight of the earl himself. Jacob pointed him to me in the crowd; a tall, older man with a stocky physique and a rather angry scar that ran down the right side of his face from his temple to his jaw. I saw a few more modest scars on his face that bore a shade of sun-kissed brown instead of fashionable pale. He wore a mid-length powered wig with curls and the usual nice attire, though I heard a bit of a rough voice. A pistol was set on one side of his belt, a rapier on the other. I didn't know whether to fear this man or admire him for his contrariness. This looked like a true man of the world, yet a man who would probably rip my head off with one snap of the wrist; and I just happened to have pushed his son around a few times.

No, fuck it all, I wasn't going to hide nor was I going to wait until Jacob gave me a stiff introduction. I casually walked up to the earl chest out and head high. He looked at me and seemed to recognize me immediately, though his reaction was a warm smile and outstretched hand. I politely bowed.

"Many thanks for the invitation, my lord," I said.

"The pleasure is all mine, lad," he said, giving a nod to who he was talking with before and going straight up to me. "You're Grell Sutcliff aren't you, Jacob's brother."

"Indeed I am, sir," I said, accepting his strong handshake.

He put an arm around my shoulder and led me to the side, it did flash in my mind briefly to be afraid though I pushed the thought out.

"Jacob has told me much about you, you are learning the company at a strong pace," the earl said. "That is something to be proud of."

"Thank you, my lord," I said. "My brother has been a most able teacher."

"You have a strong future, Mr. Sutcliff," he said, turning me around to face him. "You have an aggressive energy to you, one best used in business to make yourself in the world and not wasted on trifles such as scrawny pupils who get in your way."

He got to the point pretty quick, though I preferred the direction this was going in.

"I am in full agreement sir," I said with a heavy sigh. "I have wasted much energy on such trifles and now understand how many people I have aggrieved. I offer my sincerest apologies for your part."

Earl Phantomhive patted me on the shoulder and smiled.

"Everything I have now I earned through blood and sweat, alas my son has been born and raised in the fruits of my labor and that is all he has known," he said to me in a low tone. "Armand needs to learn how to stand up more in the world, face all the manner of adversaries, strengthen his character. He is on a hunting retreat now which I hope will build his character more."

I tried not to shiver at the memory of my father waking me up in the wee hours of the morning for a lesson in character building that involved a slaughtered cow. No, Earl Phantomhive's methods with his children were his own.

"You, Mr. Sutcliff, are already a man of strong character," he continued. "Using that spirit on weak little boys will only make you enemies. Using that spirit in the business world will make you a rich man."

"That is truly wise advice, my lord," I said and with perfect sincerity.

I saw him glance over and turn his attention toward the door. He gained a look of pleasant surprise and patted me on the back.

"I'll be having a grander gathering in a few weeks I shall have to extend you an invitation," the earl said. "In the meantime I have a late guest to properly scold. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sutcliff."

He shook my hand warmly.

"It has been a pleasure meeting you as well," I said.

He gave me a wink and one last slap on the back before moving to the front of the room. I watched him while giving a heaving sigh in relief. I just overcame a major hurdle quite nicely.

The earl walked up to another motley newcomer; a tall man with gray-streaked black hair in a long braid down his back. It was an interesting sight, he wore his hair in such a way yet he was dressed in a fine, if not modest black suit with a lacy cravat. It was like he was a combination of the dressed to the top nobles and those of more rough attire.

Earl Phantomhive practically embraced him, I him say something to the effect of "business never sleeps does it, Arthur." The guest, Arthur, smiled and chuckled a little, adjusting his rectangular spectacles with his right index finger, showing he had not clipped his nails in a little while. I took one more look at the new guest while sorting out my surging thoughts and was about to walk away and converse with someone else. From my peripheral vision, I could see him staring at me, though maintaining his conversation with the earl. I ignored it at first, but I felt a chill down my body of warning; my natural instincts kicking in.

I took a few more steps away and casually looked back in his direction. I saw the earl conversing with a couple with nearly matching tall wigs. Arthur was a few meters from where I first saw him as Joseph served him what looked like a glass of wine. He still kept looking in my direction, brows furrowed for a moment though I saw a slight look of recognition come over his face. This was not followed by calling my name or approaching me, no I saw a little smirk come over his face as he continued to stare at me. Damn it all, please don't tell me I ruffled his family's feathers somewhere too.

I looked at him and nodded in his direction. He made eye contact with me again and approached me. If he was going to confront me for roughing up his kid, may as well have at it now. Though perhaps he recognized me from another party; perhaps he recognized a common familial appearance to some member of my family to which he was acquainted. He walked up to me and raised his glass.

"To life," he said.

I smiled and raised my glass.

"To life," I said in turn.

"Enjoy what little time you have to the fullest, Mr. Sutcliff," he said, sipping from his glass.

I narrowed my eyes. Just what the hell was that supposed to mean. I was going to ask how he knew my name, but apparently I had a reputation after all.

"After all we're all only here for a short while," he said with a smirk.

I swore his watery hazel eyes took on a bright green hue, a cold chill suddenly washed over my body. It was like standing naked in front of a wall of eyes, a sense of someone staring straight into my soul. I swore I saw another texture in his eyes, like an extra ring before the hue changed back to their usual speckled greenish brown.

He walked off, casually sipping his glass as I continue to glare at him. I finally pried myself away, pulling my gaze to the side and trying to walk off with a polite step and not a run. I found Joseph and got a refill on my brandy, trying not to down it in one swig. A few more glasses later the warmth returned to my body,

What the hell just happened? What the hell was wrong with me that one single look by some librarian or accountant could chill my being so? Perhaps there was something in the drink that made me see things, perhaps I was actually going mad, or maybe it was a trick of the light. Perhaps I had grown overly paranoid; a mad Macbeth seeing Banquo's ghost in front of him when all there was before him was an empty chair. Perhaps this was my sign that I needed to go easy on the liquor.

I saw Arthur in a few more places though I made a point to avoid contact, especially eye contact. I maintained my social demeanor, trying to push out the lingering unsettled feeling. At last I spotted Jacob giving Earl Phantomhive a handshake and a few parting words before walking over to me and tell me we were departing soon. I gave our host a warm farewell, but I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.

Jacob talked business on the way home, it was actually a welcome distraction this time.

"The earl was most impressed with you," Jacob said in the carriage on the way home. "I have made myself and other executives available to him as manufacturing consultants for a venture he is starting soon, we might be speaking to him a bit more. He said he would certainly welcome your presence in such discussions. It would be a good experience for you to watch the creation of a company."

I was pleased I made such an impression, though I would be sure to avoid the drink next time. I sure as hell hoped Arthur wasn't one of his business associates. Another flag went off in my brain about this whole conversation. Would these discussions with Earl Phantomhive be occurring in the next two weeks? Jacob's tone did not seem to recognize the limited timeframe. The thought occurred to me that perhaps Jacob saw me in the future of the company. I wasn't quite sure how to feel about that prospect, though I wasn't even sure of what would happen after my six weeks here was done.

Another question came to mind that I almost didn't ask, though the circumstances seemed too pressing.

"You were right, the earl keeps fascinating company," I said.

"As I said, he has been a great many places and seen many things," Jacob said.

He leaned in as if to share a secret, though we were the only ones there and Simon was certainly a little too busy driving.

"I should warn you, Earl Phantomhive has long held a reputation for connections in the underworld," Jacob said. "It is not exactly a secret that he is the first patriarch of his house, he was granted peerage by the king for services rendered of some nature that can only be speculated. No one knows if he was born into the nobility or what his true family name is. The name of his new earldom is not exactly an accident either."

"A hive of phantoms," I said. "Appropriate."

"As I said his business is not entirely out in the open, please keep that in mind when dealing with him or any of his colleagues."

"Hence the collection of rough fellows. Though what does that make you?"

"A legitimate connection to the peerage, naturally; you and I both," Jacob said with a merry tone. "He is a legitimate nobleman, naturally he will keep the same company."

He seemed more amused by the question than offended. It was all I needed to hear about the earl and his company. Naturally this Arthur fellow was one of his more uncouth companions. Worrying about him was wasted effort.

I did have an odd dream that evening, I replayed the moment I killed Daniel Benton. The whole scene played out normally, interestingly I do not recall this part being the nightmare. The part that sent a chill through me was Arthur was in the room as well, looking on almost boredly as I smothered that drunken solicitor. At last the life left him; Arthur looked at his watch and produced what looked like a silver axe and chopped it into Danny-boy's body. I woke up with a gasp. Fortunately the dream was forgotten almost as soon as it came.

The beginning of the next week. Jacob said he received a letter from Matthew saying he would be coming to London in a week's time. The baron wanted to take a closer look at how his company was running, though more importantly he wanted to see how his younger brother was managing his responsibilities. Jacob said he had been writing to Matthew with nothing but high praise for my work and comportment during this time, Matthew wanted a final inspection before my allotted time was through.

"Your brother and I will be discussing your schooling arrangements during his visit," Jacob said over breakfast one morning.

"That was when he originally intended to tell me I would likely not be returning to King's Crest, am I correct," I said.

"Most certainly," he said. "He wanted to have definitive options for you before making that announcement, though, as I said, I thought you had every right to know that fact immediately."

"Can you make any more revelations as to what you and Matthew are considering?" I said.

"Well, your brother and I are still in the process of discussing such matters," Jacob said. "However, you are a young man capable of determining your own fate though I can imagine you feel as if your future is in the hands of others."

"The thought did occur to me," I said, stirring some sugar in my tea.

"Where do you see your future, Grell?"

It was a rather sudden question, but I should have expected it under the circumstances. This experience was about determining what career would be best for me. In truth I had not given it much thought. I realized I had neglected the subject to my detriment, allowing the flow of weeks to pass without a thought to my real purpose here. Perhaps, once again, I had been allowing myself to be lead around by the nose and not considered anything for myself.

No, I had envisioned something for myself. I kept every effort to keep an expression of neutral contemplation against the flow of sudden realizations. I had one major ambition as a boy, one seed planted during my very first visit to the theater with mother; I had wanted nothing more than to be an actor. It was something I had pushed out as a silly child's dream, or rather the nightmares inflicted on me by father pushed them out. Perhaps some hope had returned, the dream was possible somehow if only I knew the proper way to pursue it.

I couldn't repeat any of this to my brothers lest I be laughed at, though I had to keep this in my heart. Perhaps it would be a way to make my own future or at least provide a means of escape if only on a personal level.

"I see my future in opportunities," I said. "No I have not been mapping it out, though perhaps I have more been waiting to see where the wind takes me."

"As much as I'd say you should plot a course before shoving off into open water, I believe I understand your intentions," Jacob said. "You are an adventurer, a man who does not want to be tied down, someone who will welcome any opportunity but does not set his life on one port of call."

"I believe you have it," I said.

"It is only natural; you will be only 17 in a few months, you're young, the world is at your fingertips. Though what if you were provided with a stable ship to go through your adventures. That is what you will need in life, you cannot just hop aboard a raft and expect to go everywhere. You will need a solid foundation of money and experience and from there you can go anywhere. Now my question is do you have any preferences for how to build that foundation, or rather how to build your fine ship?"

Yet another speech on how to build my future, was this the only thing anyone knew to talk to me about? He was absolutely correct, I had known all this before even starting this experience. It was for that reason that I had been holding onto every shilling that came into my hands. Though perhaps I could use this bastard and his accomplice to propel me further.

"I have always had an interest in art, though perhaps my main interest has been creating things," I said. "I believe some of my most favorite time with the company has been in the design department."

"I indeed noticed," Jacob said with a laugh. "I've had to pry you out of that office every time you have worked there. I was waiting for you to tell me this. In fact Mr. Farrington has most enjoyed your presence, he said you have been quite insightful and offered a fresh perspective. The world rotates on innovation, I believe you have found a most prosperous niche with many, many opportunities for success. Would you be interested in furthering this, perhaps receiving more schooling on the practical applications that go into true creation?"

Practical applications meaning schooling in physics, engineering, and a dozen other technical subjects that I always found dreadfully boring. However one must learn to hold a brush if he is going to be a master painter. May as well agree to a few of the motions, especially if it was from their purses.

"That would certainly interest me," I said. "It would allow me to advance further. I provide what insight I can, though the men in the office certainly have more schooling and experience to put it in place."

"Education can open doors," Jacob said with a finger in the air. "And you are a most privileged man; you have access to the finest education in the world. Thank you for this talk, brother. I will share our conversation with Matthew and I am sure we will come up with some good ideas for how to get where you want to be."

Baron Sutcliff at last graced us with his presence the next week, what was supposed to be my last week with the company. Fortunately he had his own townhouse, though we were in each other's company frequently. Amid the distraction of my elder brother's presence and the lingering anxiety of what fate awaited me, I took some time to reflect on my experience. Odds were I would be leaving London soon for the manor, or perhaps Jacob would keep me on for a few more weeks before going to my new school.

A part of me was disappointed to leave London soon, yet another part of me was ecstatic to end the constant posturing and preening. This was Jacob's world, this was Matthew's world, alas it had been mother's world too but I knew damn well it wasn't mine. That was an important realization. I was the son and brother of barons, however, was this endless parade of soirees and parties and business meetings what my future held? My own answer to that was a resounding no, I couldn't continue with this bollocks for too much longer; something had to give.

At last came my moment of truth at the end of the week. Matthew and Jacob sat me down for meat tea at Matthew's even loftier townhouse; the story ending in a similar manner to how it began six weeks ago.

"Your brother has been sending me regular word of your progress," Matthew said before stuffing a scone into his fat face. "We are most impressed Grell. From what I understand you have been a most dedicated worker, gaining a great knowledge for your family's company and executing your duties with great enthusiasm."

If it could even be called that.

"Thank you, sir," I said.

How many times had I said that over the course of this experience? Were any of them really deserving of my gratitude?

"Grell there is another matter that has greatly concerned me, we spoke much of it before you left for London," Matthew said.

Here it comes.

"I have had many a conversation with Jacob and Elijah on this matter," he continued. "You are scheduled to return to King's Crest in the next two weeks, however we have been having more and more doubts as to your health and safety in that environment. However we know you have friends there and have been an exemplary student. What is your opinion of the prospect of another educational environment?"

"I have had friends there and great experiences," I said. "However the past year has been most trying. After the incident at the end of term, I doubt I will be returning to any friends. If you have another option for me, I would certainly be receptive. London has opened my eyes to the greater world and I am personally open for any new school or experience."

They exchanged that knowing glance again, I was ready to smash their faces together and yell at them to talk already.

"Grell how would you feel about the possibility of staying in London, perhaps for the next year?" Matthew said.

My jaw dropped. Was this possible? A feeling of elation came over me, though was tempered with reality; there was more to this.

"I would love it," I said. "I have fallen completely in love with this city, it's absolutely brilliant. What did you have in mind?"

"Brother you have proven yourself many times over, this time has been a great experience in learning and discipline," Matthew said. "You have molded into a young gentleman, we certainly see a future for you."

"We are going to make you a business offer, brother," Jacob said.

My elation deflated. I knew exactly where this was going.

"You have been most valuable to our family's company and it has been a better learning experience for your future than King's Crest ever was," Jacob said. "We would like to offer you a full salaried executive position in the company, you will have the title of Junior Associate and you will assist in the day to day operations, though you may work in any department you like."

"I am aware you had a great interest in the design office, you may stay there until there is any other ways you can assist," Matthew said. "This will also come with a trip to Paris in the fall and Hamburg in the spring. You will occasionally consult with a private tutor to maintain your studies. This offer is good for one year to let you gain more experience. However, you will be expected to attend university at the end of that year. An education is still most important and you will need technical skills to advance in our company. After university your future is wide open should you choose to return to the company or explore other pursuits."

They wanted me to stay with the company for another year. My first thought was pure horror, though better realities made themselves known. I would still be in London, a much better environment than any school. I could have asked what options I had should I refuse, but I knew this would be better than any of them. Though I would need more freedom of movement than I had now.

"You make a most intriguing offer, however I am indeed a young man most familiar with London," I said.

"And the last thing you want is to be watched like a child," Jacob said with a smile. "That will not be necessary, you have proven yourself most responsible."

"I have greatly appreciated your hospitality, brother, though would it be possible for me to have my own separate apartment," I said.

"Consider it done," Jacob said.

"Though this will be a privilege contingent on you keeping up your duties and maintaining your responsibilities," Matthew said.

"Most understood, sir," I said.

"You will have to entertain a visit from us from time to time, though I understand you will want your space," Jacob said. "You practically maintain your own social schedule, naturally you will want a space to entertain."

His little private wink most amused me.

"On that condition I accept your offer," I said.

Both of them rose and shook hands with me like any other businessman sealing a deal. I had no idea what they intended for me, though it didn't matter at this point. All I needed was some free reign to manage my own affairs; they needed to know nothing more from there.


	16. Part 16

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 16**

My new desk was put into place on Monday in the main administrative area, though close enough to the design office that I could simply slip through the door. Mr. Farrington and his crew welcomed me immediately with warm handshakes. As soon as my new space was all ready for my working life here, Jacob gathered everyone round the front of the office, pulling me right next to him for all to stare at.

"You have seen this man around the office for the past several weeks," Jacob said. "Now, he has become a permanent member of our team. My brother will manage our day to day operations before setting forth for university and learning what we do in more depth. It is my pleasure to introduce our new Junior Associate, Mr. Grell Sutcliff."

Cue polite claps around the room and forced smiles. Cue the hero prying his lips into a smile and giving little bows in response.

The herd returned to their normal grazing and I gladly took a seat in Mr. Farrington's office to resume some planning. I got some use of my drawing skills by sketching some schematics, following instructions on how to draw each description to scale. I felt truly happy at this moment, my work was going into creating new things.

I was now curious to visit one of the factories to see how these items were put together.

Maybe I could ask Jacob to take me along during one of his next visits to the one in the East End, though it was likely he would try to talk me out of it or refuse. I had heard that the East End was one of the less desirable parts of the city; overflowing with crime and vice and populated with what had been called "the scum of the earth." This didn't scare me so much as intrigue me. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to see a bit more of the less-gilded side of the world.

I returned to Jacob's townhouse for the rest of the week, though he spoke to me about looking for a new apartment. It had to be something modest, something reasonable for a young bachelor starting out in the world. Jacob told me he had spoken to a friend of his who owned a building just a few blocks from here, his regular tenants were affluent businessmen who were either bachelors or married with few children. We looked at the building on a Thursday and I did find Jacob's friend an agreeable man with an agreeable property. I set my sights on this one spacious apartment with beautiful wooden molding. Jacob said he would talk with him and negotiate the terms. On Friday I was told the space was mine and feel free to move in when desired.

Jacob said Matthew insisted on footing the bill; "Anything to help our brother on his journey in life." I did keep in mind that my new landlord was likely going to keep an eye on my comings and goings, but anything that happened in my space was my own business. Jacob took me to a local storeroom to look at furnishings and I chose the ones I liked the most. Yes there was a lot of red and a lot of ruffles, though nicely contrasted with some dark hardwoods.

Jacob did ask if I wished for any servants to be hired. I wasn't thrilled with the idea, though settled on a maid to come in twice a week to do some basic cleaning. She would be available for any cooking or service should I need it, Jacob told me. I knew how to prepare food and drinks for myself anyway and many meals would be spent out of the house, though I said I would keep that service in mind. I would also make a point to tip her extra to keep confidences; though by now I assumed my brothers' respective networks were too large for me to control. I should only exercise caution on my part.

The subject of transportation certainly came up. Jacob insisted we still go into work together; after all my apartment would be just a block from his and we were going in the same direction. I agreed, though I asked Jacob for use of a horse. He was hesitantly agreeable though tried to talk me into having a driver; the roads were dirty and there were thieves everywhere. I knew his true concern was that I would lack that pretty symbol that I was a rich bastard and look like some kind of pauper at high events. I said I was already familiar with the roads and would prefer my own means to get around. At last the matter was settled; he would get me a horse by the time I moved into the new space.

Jacob threw a large gathering at the townhouse that night, mostly business associates and a few nobles he was verbally licking. The liquor was flowing and he even hired a few musicians. Jacob kept me by his side for the beginning of the party. Eventually he walked with purpose to the front of the drawing room, clinking his glass with a ring to put all eyes on him. This was of course a second version of the speech he gave at the office earlier, however that was probably the dress rehearsal for the grand debut.

"Many thanks for coming to this gathering," he said. "Tonight I would like to celebrate the future of Sutcliff Agricultural."

I took a long sip of my cognac, wanting to bury myself in the glass and out of sight.

"In 1763, my brother Matthew and I were two young cads eying a box full of patents in our father's study," Jacob's speech began. "We knew this business of producing hand-crafted agricultural tools on commission was merely the seed to a larger opportunity. If any of you knew Baron Thomas, God rest his soul, you knew how much of a stubborn git he could be."

I attempted a smile to match the light laughs that went across the room. I just needed to imagine what part of Hell father was roasting in to produce a few of my own merry chuckles.

"Well, he saw our vision and let us run with it," Jacob continued. "I remember many days traveling to our manor to discuss new opportunities with father. And on every one of our visits, we would see a cheery little face framed in bright red hair; a small voice asking to stop and read to him, little hands trying to sneak into our coat pockets for treasure, asking us forlorn why we had to leave."

I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. Unless he was referring to some urchin kept in the cellar I was unaware of, the story was an utter fabrication. My earliest memories included being practically locked in the nursery when Matthew and Jacob visited. Any time I did see them, they would scowl at me with such force that I would be too scared to come near them. Jacob was reciting his lines rather convincingly.

"It has been 13 years since the birth of our company," Jacob said, I could see his eyes go more in my direction. "And now, that romping little boy is an intelligent, determined young man. He spent the summer becoming more acquainted with our family's hard work and has made his experience into a home. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the continuing future of Sutcliff Agricultural, Ltd. in the hands of a younger generation; our new Junior Associate, Mr. Grell Nils Sutcliff."

I was actually eating up the applause this time; every eye in this room was on me, celebrating me. It didn't matter how fell the purpose, I was the center of attention regardless; I was the primadonna. I went around the room, shaking hands and taking words of welcome and advice. I played this ridiculous fantasy in my mind that I was a blushing debutante meeting all her potential suitors. I imagined every polite bow to be a dainty curtsey, every firm handshake a substitute for gentle kisses on the fingers. I even pictured myself in a flowing white gown; ruffles and lace all over, my hair pulled into a high bun. I felt beautiful at this ugly gathering if only in my mind.

Alas most of the men in this room were older and clutched on the arm by a wife in fashionable dress. There were a few handsome, unaccompanied young men there. I found myself putting on some extra politeness like a girl charming a suitor. Unfortunately I was reminded of my true physical nature by a slight tightening in my trousers. I broke from my fantasy and casually adjusted my coat, managing to calm myself down.

I took this as a reminder that I had not had any intimate male company in while; alarming still that the last man I bedded was Reg just before he fell apart. There had been plenty of women this summer, but the novelty was wearing off. Unfortunately fewer men in the business world were as willing to experiment as schoolboys, though one of these stiff buggers had to have a weak spot. I would have to learn the signs of someone's vice and it was merely strategy from there.

The apartment would not be fully furnished and adorned for another week, though I started packing on Saturday. I had accumulated little in the past six weeks; a few new outfits and paintings, but my load was not heavier at all compared to what I came in with. Occasionally I would visit the space, getting more accustomed to my new environment.

Jacob took me to the building one day and lead me back to the stables, showing me this gorgeous brown mare with patches of white. Her name was Daisy and she was a retired race horse, likely saved from becoming glue and fertilizer. Such a beautiful creature, such a ticket to my liberation in this city. I took her for a light run for a few blocks, feeling out the bumpy streets and gaining some knowledge of what streets to go down and which to avoid. I would get more of an orientation later.

That Friday Jacob and I took a quiet supper at home, he toasted me on my new step of independence. I spent my last night in my brother's apartment, looking on it from my bed in a surprisingly sentimental mood. It had been rather nice here, it was also nice to have a room in which I had been completely at peace. It was a space that had never seen spilled blood or heard screams of anger or agony; only pure calm. Such seemed the theme for the nearly two months I had spent here.

It was a nice quiet retreat from the manor and school, perhaps because it was the space of a man and not a boy. This was the space of a sophisticated, responsible, respectable young nobleman: a man with a high reputation in society and fast walking the path to a prosperous career. The very thought of it brought a sour taste in the back of my throat.

I lay back in bed and stared at the walls; God help me I wanted to see them burn. I wanted to watch as Jacob's cheap art collection went up in smoke, hear the servants run from the building carrying as much gold and treasures as they could. I wanted to hear Jacob screaming as his silk bedclothes caught ablaze and toasted his body to cinders. I wanted to witness in glorious satisfaction as he fell to the ground in a charred heap. I drifted into a peaceful sleep, a smile on my face as I heard his screams in the back of my imagination.

I awoke to the usual light of morning, the walls intact, Benjamin coming in later and serving me my last tea here, and hearing Jacob walking around downstairs. It was only a fantasy, though I would be out of this place soon.

My items were moved to the new apartment later that afternoon. I walked in to see the furnishings in place, the stage set for the next act of my life. I naturally supervised the process and wasn't afraid to drag a few trunks to Jacob's amusement. At last things were as settled as they could be, of course be adding some finishing touches later. Jacob clapped me on the back before he left me alone.

"Take care of yourself, brother, though I know you will do just fine," he said.

As soon as I watched him walk down the street from the front window and out of sight, I let out a loud cackle. I hurled myself into the plush couch and stared at the ceiling, hearing nothing but quiet all around me. I was alone, free. I was in my own space unsupervised. It was one of the greatest feelings I had known.

I simply savored a quiet Sunday, taking up my violin for the first time in too long and doing a bit of reading. I did ride out later to a club for a light meal and a few drinks, pleased to not have a curfew and no one to answer to. Naturally I would have to be in bed at a reasonable hour. The carriage was coming by at 8:30 to pick me up for work.

My spirits slightly dampened upon seeing my brother's smarmy face the next morning. At the end of the day, however, Jacob was dropped of first at his townhouse and I was alone to my apartment. It indeed felt good to be alone, getting off at my own new home and going in with no one there and no one to mind my movements.

My social schedule continued, some events with Jacob but more by myself. The season would be ending in a few weeks, may as well play along for now. When I got a few more occasions to myself, I was looking at smaller theaters and even small productions at inns. I took to wearing more casual outfits and leaving some rings at home, donning the costume of a common man out for a night of simple entertainment. At the end of the season when all the nobles went back to their manors and there were fewer and fewer events, I endeavored to pursue some new hobbies.

As had been told to me before, Jacob reminded me I would be accompanying some other associates on two-week business trip to Paris in late September. Now was the time to ready myself for it. It gave me a timeline to work with, not to mention something to look forward to. I had never been to France but had an absolute love for its language and its culture. I would be going with four other associates. We would have a translator, though most of us were fluent in the language including myself. It was a bright star on the horizon, but there was still a bit more sailing through the muck before arriving to that glorious day.

A week later, Jacob's carriage picked me up per usual though my brother barely greeted me with anything more than a nod. He was clearly not in his usual mood of faux merriment. I shut the door and we departed as usual, seeing him clutching onto a rolled newspaper.

"Have you read the papers today or spoken to anyone on the street?" he asked.

"No, I've been home all morning," I said. "Is something going on?"

"I'm just glad you haven't heard the word going around yet," Jacob said. "I hoped to address it with you before you heard some idiot raving about it in a pub."

I was a little unnerved by this. Reputations in society could be undone easily with a few words in public. For a second I was actually scared someone learned something about me.

Jacob unrolled the newspaper and handed it to me face forward.

"American colonies issue declaration of independence" read the headline.

I took the paper and breathed a quiet sigh of relief, though I understood his hesitation. They printed the text of the document; it was dated July 4 and the paper said it had been sent to the king by way of the colonial governors. Oh what a lovely diatribe it was, calling out the king on a whole list of alleged injuries. Whether this was a list of legitimate grievances or verbal rock throwing by a room full of educated men was a matter on which I was certainly not qualified to have an opinion. This, however, was a catalogue of the seeds of rebellion; the reason for the war, the reason for Oskar's death. I fully understood why Jacob wanted to present me this news in person.

It was unsettling yes, though it didn't really rankle me. I did wonder if the authors of this document were politicians working backstage of the war or whether they were warlords themselves. Gen. George Washington was a name I heard mentioned, spat upon, or laughed at once in a while, but were these his associates? My eyes did trail down to the list of signers, falling to the representatives from Massachusetts: were any of Messrs Hancock, Paine, Gerry, and the two Messrs Adams in Concord on the field or leading the troops against my brother's battalion? I highly doubted that. As much as the Americans were described as barbarians, I could only imagine they had a system of blameless representation for acts of violence like ours. They were colonies of the crown after all.

"You know what this is?" Jacob said, shoving a finger in the direction of the paper. "Treason in its purest form, an utter profanity against our king. I wanted to share this with you first, Grell, because these men have our brother's blood on their hands. They are taking the lives of our soldiers, their own people, for this treason."

The question did cross my mind of why our soldiers were there in the first place. Why was Oskar's battalion sent over? Oskar said himself it was to maintain order among the king's subjects, he termed it as a type of peacekeeping mission.

"These were men of the crown, we provided them with every means to survive in that horrible continent, and this is the kind of appreciation they show," Jacob said. "They could have been civilized people, now they're forming their own animal pack and killing their brethren. It's bloody disgusting."

Most of these subjects were people born and raised in that land. What if they truly didn't want to be ruled, what if they wanted their own land and government? Naturally they would rebel, naturally the soldiers recruited to serve our country would be sent over to quell them. Oskar died doing his sworn duty; he should be remembered as a hero and not a martyr to some cause. On the same end, men were sacrificing their lives for their own budding nation: going right up against the hulking force that was our motherland.

"My apologies, Grell, I am more than a little perturbed by this whole matter," he said with a heaving sigh. "I'm perturbed as an Englishman and as the brother of a fallen soldier and I'm sure you are as well."

Was I? Should I have been angry with the Americans; should I have cursed their revolution, their declaration of personal sovereignty? Deep down I bore them little love, though I knew hatred would have been a waste of my energy. I rolled the newspaper and put it beside me. Jacob gave me a somber look.

"In truth, this holds little weight for me," I said.

Jacob slightly raised his eyebrows with an expression of mild surprise. He didn't seem cross with where I was going, merely curious on behalf of a gravely injured party with every right to demand blood.

"Oskar is gone, I have mourned him in my own way, and would prefer to leave it at that," I said. "My loyalty is and always will be to our king, though I care little of politics. His Majesty is an intelligent man with able resources; I will leave this for him to manage."

Jacob smirked a little and nodded.

"Each man has his own mind and his own heart," Jacob said. "To each his own approach. Perhaps you are teaching me something."

It was the talk of the office, though I paid it little mind. Most of the workers clamped their mouths shut whenever they knew Jacob or I were in earshot, likely out of respect. A few did voice their sympathy to our family. Why did this feel like Oskar's memorial service; all of the pathetic words of condolence, only half of which were sincere? It was a rough reminder that it had been over a year. What was I doing on the one year anniversary of learning of my brother's violent end? I didn't want to think on the answer, it likely involved a beach and a knife to Reg Kirkney's throat.

I was thankful there were no events that night. I decided to stay home and read, looking between my book and the glass of claret that never seemed to run out. Eventually I studied more the bottle and the little molded crystal diamonds that ran along the side of my glass, avoiding the narrative of my thoughts. Somehow I gained enough will to recognize the way my head bobbed against the arm of my couch. If I slept here, I had no idea if the bell would wake me for work. This was a good time to stop, make myself some tea, and get properly ready for bed.

I told myself the next day through my aching head that all was forgotten. The topic was old news no matter how many people on the streets and in the office and at parties debated it and discussed it at length. It was unpleasant business that should be avoided, reopened wounds should be left alone to heal and not picked at. I knew this, hence why I really wasn't bleeding; I had too much sense for that.

A week later, Jacob was in one of his usual jovial moods going to the office. By the middle of the day he was wearing his inner bastard nature quite openly; snapping at workers, throwing down papers, freely giving out glares. Mr. Farrington needed to speak with him about the latest steel shipment to determine a timeline for one hand tool project and asked for me to fetch him.

No one was allowed into Jacob's office unless summoned, I was the exception. I knocked on the door first, receiving no answer. I then opened it and went into his office to see he was out for whatever reason. My eyes trailed over his desk to the papers scattered all over it and one letterhead in particular caught my eye: Crawford and Son's Distribution, Savannah, Georgia.

I took a second look around the office to make sure no one was in sight and casually skimmed the letter.

_Dear Mr. Sutcliff,_

_After great consideration by our family, the unanimous decision was made to discontinue all discussions and negotiations between our companies in light of the dire situation between the Colonies and the Crown. _

_I and my family remain loyal to our sovereign, His Majesty King George III as are many families in our colony and wish to do business with our homeland. However, representatives form Georgia signed the Declaration of Independence and opinion has moved more and more against the King and more toward the revolution. Loyalty toward our sovereign has been costing other men their businesses and has even made them the target of violence. My first priority at this time must be to protect what our family has built, I am sure you understand. War is moving further south and our own trade routes are already hindered by the onset of conflict. _

_Under the present circumstances I believe it is impossible for us to continue our negotiations. I believe if Sutcliff Agriculture were to entertain prospects here, your company would be blocked in a bureaucratic mess. When this rebellion has quieted, such may be the time for both our companies to prosper from such a cooperation. Until then, God be with your family and God Save the King._

_Sincerely,_

_Franklin M. Crawford_

I pulled away from his desk immediately and left the room before anyone noticed I was there. I passed Jacob in the hallway and gave him Mr. Farrington's message. He said he would be along in a moment and went back to his office. I had nothing to fear at this point, I left no trace of my presence and no one else had any reason to question my reason for being there if they noticed at all.

I returned to my work, though feeling as if an insect was gnawing at the back of my brain; boring through more and more with each passing second.

Funny wasn't it, Jacob and Matthew were rather vocal about their business opportunities in France and Germany; no one mentioned anything about America. And why would they have any business in the Colonies; after all they were a bunch of traitorous animals shitting on our king in an angrily worded document? I tried to think of all the ways this letter meant nothing more than a failed business opportunity and not a declaration of massive hypocrisy on the part of my brother, if not my whole family.

The more hours passed the more I thought about this letter and the more I went from slightly annoyed to right out incensed…no pissed off was the better phrase. I believe I would have been less outraged had the matter been so open instead of shoved amid the rest of the paperwork on Jacob's desk. Perhaps he believed the Colonies should remain under the crown no questions asked and still pursued business with them, though his previous silence on the matter only told volumes. This was the kind of thing he would lament openly.

Perhaps his tirade in the carriage was more reflecting on coming ill news than true patriotism or personal wounding. If such was the case why the hell did he keep bringing up Oskar in this conversation? Was my brother nothing more to him than a tool for sympathy or solidarity? I didn't even need to ask that question for I knew what the answer was just as I knew what I was to him or what any other member of his family was to him. We were all tools for his success and nonexistent if he had nothing to gain from us.

I was tempted to ask him about the letter, play the naïve child. Instead I decided it was best to stay quiet and keep my ears open for his reaction. If the topic was never mentioned at all, whether to me, Matthew, or anyone else, then it was meant to be hidden. I wondered what else my brother was up to that he did not want brought into the light of day. He was friends with Earl Phantomhive, after all; an alleged master of the underworld wearing the clothes of a nobleman. He was also a regular at the sorts of parties of which the rest of polite society would not approve. Granted I attended the same sort of parties, but perhaps there was more involvement on his part. I needed to keep an eye open.

I sucked in my anger and dealt with him the rest of the day as if nothing was amiss, riding home with him with little more than light conversation. He was still peeved, I could tell though I made no notice of it. I acted as if he had had a hard day at work.

The next few weeks saw some grand parties to commemorate the end of the season, both the respectable kind and the less-so. It wasn't lost on me that I would normally have returned to King's Crest around now. I did occasionally reminisce about seeing that grand building grow larger on the horizon the closer we came, running out of the carriage to the warm arms of all my good friends, trading stories about our summers and what teachers we hoped to get. Boyhood memories only, ghosts of a past innocent time and nothing more.

I occasionally thought about the lads, what would life be like upon returning? More importantly, what would their reaction be to my absence; celebration likely, whispers of me being a coward. Let them bloody talk, I was in a much better place now with the life of a man and not a boy. This life was much more preferable, even if at the moment it seemed like only a lesser evil. If I got nothing else out of this, it was the relief that running into any of these bastards would not be possible now with them in school.

At last the season ended, my list of social engagements went down considerably. Naturally someone in town would have some gathering and businessmen were fond of toasting themselves. By the beginning of September I felt a bit more a part of this new world; not silently anticipating the start of school and instead fully knowing I was where I needed to be. The end of the season meant more free time to scope out a few more theaters. I would find some more time to talk to the actors; a few compliments here and there that lead into a few conversations.

I became a regular at this one small theater, Mersey Hall, that had a close-knit company of regulars. I started speaking to them after shows. Then after one show they invited me to a pub. It was a brilliant evening, they were all regular louts of varying manners of speech though all of them were the friendliest bunch I'd met in a while. Joining them was their boss and director, Colin Avery; a middle-aged gent who I learned had been on Drury Lane for so long he wanted to create his own collective.

Oh my name? Richard Morris, pleasure to meet you. I have a great interest in the theater though what really intrigues me is the inner workings. This was the start of some great conversations, they were pretty much egging me on to know more.

What do I do? I'm actually a file clerk, but, and this is a bit of a personal secret I feel I can only tell you people of like mind: I've always wanted to be an actor. My family thinks its ridiculous, but such is my wish. Thank you for the understanding, I felt so silly about it. Have I acted before? Unfortunately no.

I obliged a few calls to read some lines from memory. I could only think of Marc Antony's monologue to Caesar off the top of my head. I thought I probably sounded like a fool, though all eyes were on me in rapt attention. When I finished the final lines, I got a round of applause; all of it sincere from my interpretation. They asked me to consider reading for a production sometime. My dream is to be on stage, I told them, but alas I'm on my own and I have to work for my supper. I don't have the time to rehearse all day. Wait, what was that? You all are working sods too?

"I'm the only bloke in this company who has some advantages, Mr. Morris," Colin said. "Look here, Georgie's a clerk too, he works in a customs house. John's a cobbler, Alice cleans at an inn. Our rehearsal schedule varies, but is all done after hours. Naturally you've got to remember your lines in your own time. Just imagine, lad, you can be a file clerk by day and a star at night."

The thought was beyond belief.

They were wrapping up their production of "The Merry Wives of Windsor" and would be going into their grand presentation of "Romeo and Juliet" the beginning of November in time for the Christmas crowds. I should audition for one of the smaller parts, they told me. Romeo and Tybalt were already cast among the regulars, though I was welcome to read for any of the smaller roles.

"We're always looking for younger talent as yourself, that and I would rather not see another gray-haired Mercutio or Paris," Colin said to laughs.

A spark lit in my mind, this was possible? Could I really be on stage?

I bid good night to my new friends, telling them I would be back soon. I had a business trip later in the month, though I would surely be back to read. I practically skipped to my horse and rode like lightening back to my apartment. I slept well that night, a feeling in my heart that I could make something work for me.


	17. Part 17

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 17**

Our caravan was set to leave for Paris on the 20 of September. The five of us would leave from London in two carriages escorted along the way by two paid guards on horseback. We would travel to Dover and take a boat across the Channel to Calais. Coaches would be waiting for us to proceed onto Paris. The journey would take at best three days and at worst much longer depending on the sailing conditions over the Channel.

Jacob endlessly briefed me on our purpose for being there. He had been in regular contact with a Comte de Marteille and his business partners about opening a distribution office in Paris with sights on a future factory. Apparently Jacob and the comte were chums, they would party together every time Jacob was in Paris or on the rare occasions the comte visited England. Comte de Marteille, however, was notorious for his business practices.

He would seem agreeable to an investment, but would only put in a small portion of his own money saying it was all he had to offer. In truth he had a stockpile of francs for investments and he would only use a little at a time. Naturally his part of the deal would include stock holdings; if a venture was successful he would rake in money for himself after barely contributing any of his own. Jacob somehow learned of this predilection and subsequently informed our team. He told the financiers to milk him for anything he was withholding; though not to go too rough on him and alienating him from the whole deal. Apparently Matthew was not an admirer of this man at all for this and several other reasons. Matthew wouldn't say no to money or expansion, but from what I heard some correspondence had not been without a few jabs.

"Let Mr. Loring and Mr. Atwell take care of the financial details," Jacob told me. "I am counting on you to be the voice of reason, not to mention put on the charm. The comte respects personality and family loyalty and you are the face of that. Plus you are a strong diplomat and that is what we need in this situation."

In other words no one can say no to a bright boy. Apparently that was my whole reason for being on this trip and it irked me more than a little. I understood the basic investment procedures, though I did raise the issue during a meeting in his office that I was unfamiliar with specific factory operations; would that be a problem for the representative of the company?

"Mr. Quinn and Mr. Anderson oversee the day-to-day operations of the Boreham and London factories," Jacob said. "They will be our experts in this matter and defer all discussions to them."

In other words, I was the "family spokesman" with rudimentary financial knowledge and no understanding of the manufacturing process and I was being sent over to handle a major deal that could put our company in France. I hardly appreciated my position.

"You are curious about seeing the factory, aren't you," he said. "I can understand, you work on the designs of our products and you want to see the process by which they are made."

"Most certainly," I replied.

"The factory, however, is a dangerous place; there are is equipment being used, curing processes forging. It is hot, there is smoke and gasses everywhere; not a place a mere executive can go safely."

Yet the workers are expected to endure this environment for several hours a day every day. Maybe the real danger for us there was being drawn and quartered if the workers decided to mutiny.

He said he would take me along during his next inspection, though did not give me a time. He likely said it to get me out of his hair.

At last the week arrived for our journey. As much as I felt I was being used as some sort of mannequin or mouthpiece, I was beyond excited if not a bit nervous for such a grand excursion. Jacob gave me one more piece of advice right before leaving.

"Grell remember, you are a representative for the company," Jacob said. "I will warn you, the comte can be a bit of a handful. I can't really go into any specifics, but I am sure you will see what I mean. Let me just say you don't have to be in his presence regularly nor do you have to tolerate his manner, though at least show courtesy and respect. I certainly trust you can do this, though a few words of caution are always useful."

The carriage picked me up on Monday and the caravan gathered for our southward departure. I rode in the carriage with Messrs Anderson and Loring, two associates of mine from the office with whom I had interacted on a daily basis. We started our journey with polite conversation, which gradually quieted with the passing hours. The further we got from London, the more we slept or kept to other activities with the occasional word between us. I brought a few books with me, least of all my own copy of "Romeo and Juliet" to start learning some lines with more effort.

The ride itself was uneventful though a bit hard on the rump in the not-so enjoyable way. Even the plush seats couldn't do anything about that. We arrived in Dover by nightfall and stayed for the night in an inn. The next day we boarded a ship for Calais, the seas perfect for our journey. I enjoyed this part of the trip immensely, I hadn't really traveled by boat before. It was also nice to be able to walk around for a while, though having my effects scattered everywhere in my cabin by the churning sea was hardly enjoyable.

The shoreline of France came into view the next afternoon. I watched Calais come onto the horizon with a look of awe. The ship docked and I was surrounded by all these beautiful French voices. It was a bustle of activity; everyone from dock workers to street vendors to men and women in their finery. We boarded new carriages for the longest part of the journey, though time flew by for me. I watched out the window taking this all in. I briefly caught Mr. Anderson's eye and he smiled at me a bit.

"Amazing country, is it not," he said.

I simply had no words, only a nod.

The more the journey continued, the more I watched the surroundings with more happy wonder than outright awe. We stopped for the night in Roye at a lovely inn, leaving right the next morning for the last stage of our journey that would take us to Paris before nightfall.

Dusk was looming when we saw the lights on the horizon; Paris lay before us with the glow of a heavenly city. I believe I was more in awe now than I was when I first arrived in London, except this was more breathtaking. The city was so grand in every way from the architecture to the perfume of the streets.

Our carriage finally stopped on a beautiful street to a grand apartment that was our quarters for the next few weeks. Jacob had part ownership of this building with a few other partners. It would be the perfect space for meetings and organizing paperwork and there was a full staff of servants to cater to any need. The other four had their own rooms though it was made clear I would get the grand bedroom to myself. We took that first night to rest, the cook prepared a feast with champagne provided courtesy of the comte . According to the itinerary, we would be meeting with this gentleman and his partners in their offices the next morning.

Morning arrived and the carriages were ready for us bright and early. Everyone assembled their respective papers; I on the other hand really didn't have any papers to assemble. I was the spokesperson after all, all I had to do was rehearse my lines and give the right cues to those who were there with a true purpose. I couldn't wait to get this nonsense over with and sample some local wines.

The carriage took us to a more modest yet no-less sophisticated office building. We were escorted inside by a man who introduced himself as Monsieur Alsace, Comte de Marteille's secretary. The comte would be with us shortly, he said. Shortly turned into an hour after the scheduled time. I was sure this was being done on purpose. Naturally no one complained, every apology given by M. Alsace was shooed away though all of us cautiously checked our watches repeatedly.

At last the doors opened, three well-dressed gentlemen in wigs approached our table. Following behind was a tall man in a much grander blue outfit and an impeccably white wig with rolled curls along the sides. I placed him in his mid to late thirties, a few lines and creases still visible under the light coating of white powder over his face. M. Alsace introduced Comte de Marteille immediately followed by the names of his associates. Marteille looked over all of us like uninteresting furniture, though I swore he took a double-take when seeing me. I really didn't know how to interpret that gesture, merely introducing myself and my fellows like the good little mouthpiece I was.

Naturally the bulk of the conversation was on the business at hand, about which my associates clearly knew more than I did. I was surprised at how I was able to facilitate the discussions and add some additional supporting words about the nature of our business. The nods and words of agreement from my associates told me I wasn't being all that annoying. Marteille said little, through his own partners dug in hard; their tone polite yet bordering on insulting at times. I met all their little jabs at the alleged slowness of our company's growth and the usual French drivel about us working under an "unstable" king with wit. At times I saw some of my colleagues holding back smiles and doing what they could to keep from slapping the table. Apparently I was doing something right.

Gradually the conversations wound down, all eyes eventually turned to the comte . He took a few moments to pause and dramatically stroke his chin. Dear God, were French nobles more insufferable than those from my country?

"This is a most perplexing decision," Marteille said. If there was one thing I could admire was the beautiful way he wrapped the words in his native tongue. Noble French just sounded so much more beautiful even if it was coming from someone I rather disliked at the moment. "I can safely say I cannot say no to you gentlemen, that is a decision I have made already."

I could see my colleagues raise up slightly in their seats and looks of happiness come over their faces, though there would not yet be any celebration.

"We have ample time to discuss the particulars, though I know you all have families in England that need your attention more than I," Marteille continued. "I am having a little gathering in my apartment tomorrow night, I extend my invitation to all of you."

We all accepted with humble enthusiasm. I found it interesting how he looked at me last and added a slight smirk. I could speculate all I wanted to, though my guess was he was giving me more attention as nobility than the men of more common birth with which I came. Perhaps he saw a challenger in me, I was after all rather young to be in such a position; or perhaps he was mocking me for that same reason.

We enjoyed a comfortable night at a few clubs and taverns. How I loved the nightlife of Paris; such a vibrant city. I felt more life here than in London, everything was so much more extravagant, so much louder and so much more colorful. I easily mingled with the natives, though recognized a few subtle slurs slipped in my direction. As much as I had a command of this language, I was not a native speaker and did not have the opportunity to immerse myself in the proper accent. It was likely obvious my speech gave myself away, though I was not all that self-conscious.

I held myself like the little prince I was; arms around a bevy of women and my glass always full with the most decadent wines I had ever tasted. I did watch myself, though; the last thing I wanted was any kind of report back that I got drunk and made a fool of myself. I returned to the apartment with my fellows sufficiently relaxed and ready for the next day.

The second day was a bit of a lull. Comte de Marteille sent us over a basket of lovely bread and brie, telling us to relax and enjoy the city today; business would resume the next day. That night was also his party, perhaps he felt it best to negotiate with us the morning after. He could probably bargain us down to nothing if we were distracted by our aching heads and sour stomachs.

It became a proper day to take in the sights and relax a bit more after our arduous journey. I had more of an opportunity to see the streets and architecture of this lovely city in the daylight. My love for Paris only grew by the hour.

Later in the evening we changed into our usual festive finery. I brought out one of my most extravagant outfits; a rich red coat and red velvet britches with a black brocade waistcoat. It was an outfit one could only be noticed in; like a powerful weapon only unsheathed at the ideal moment. The French appreciated everything bright and loud, everything _grell_; may as well make my presence known here.

Every townhouse in London paled in comparison to the comte's space. His apartment took up practically a whole building and was festooned with every molding, accent, tapestry, and crystal imaginable. The dresses were wider, the wigs were taller, and the conversation more raucous than any Englishman could even comprehend. This was decedent grandeur at its finest.

I passed through the crowd with ease, kissing so many hands and cheeks and going from one witty conversation to the other. The word _anglais_ was thrown around quite a bit, but never in any kind of a vicious or annoyed way. The partygoers were more curious about us and so very welcoming. I danced with quite a few ladies, receiving compliments on the grace of my steps. I merely gave humble laughs in response and gentle kisses on the fingers. I did get into some interesting conversations with the men, getting some suggestions on reading material though I found myself more comfortable with the women.

I had just completed a dance with this lovely bird in a low-necked cream dress when I saw the comte lingering closer to me and observing over a glass of sherry. I gave a parting kiss on the hand to my lady and turned then to the party's host, giving him a low bow.

"Many thanks for your gracious hospitality," I said to him.

"I am pleased you are enjoying yourself," he said. "I am about to test a bottle of sauvignon, a fresh bottle from a vineyard in which I have interests in. I would like another tongue to test its true flavor. Care to join me?"

His mouth formed into that same little smirk I saw earlier. I was a bit more intrigued now.

"I would be honored, sir," I said.

We walked to the back of the room, taking plush seats in a corner. A servant arrived with the bottle in question and laid out glasses. He opened the bottle and poured a decent amount into both glasses, placing the bottle on the table and taking his leave. Marteille raised his glass, toasting to "new friends and old fun" before taking a luxurious sip. I took my own sip, the bold, fragrant liquid coating my tongue. This wine was pure art. I slightly tilted my head back and gave a happy sigh.

"Pleased with the product?" he said. "Good, I am glad the experience was shared."

"Such beauty can only be properly experienced with a person of like mind," I replied.

The ensuing conversation was typical rubbish, we chatted a little more about wine. He asked pithy little questions about my work and my family life, "Jacob is an old friend of mine," and that nonsense. I followed the usual script to maintain the conversation, though my true attention was on more subtle details. He was practically gazing at me the entire time, reacting to some of my words with that same smile. I noticed the way he would lightly sip his wine, gently rubbing a finger around the edge of the glass. He slightly reclined on the arm of his chair and crossed his legs. It wasn't lost on me how one foot would accidentally brush against mine.

I was slightly perturbed at first, though relaxed swiftly; putting on my usual charm. I would occasionally wipe the excess wine off my lower lip with my finger and stretch my own legs to brush against his. I found this man to be a bit of bastard at first, though personality aside he was rather handsome. I had never given any looks to anyone of his age; it reminded me too much of my arsehole brothers though this man was a much different person. The comte offered to give me a refill, lifting the mouth of the bottle and gently caressing my finger as he steadied my glass for the rich red spirit. His intentions now were plain as day.

I didn't know if he wanted to merely enjoy my company or pull me into his boudoir for a private business discussion. I couldn't imagine such acts were any less illicit in France than they were in England; the Catholic Church held sway here after all. This did seem like a much freer environment, though caution was always the wiser practice. I was also on a business trip with four other associates and my brothers awaiting every word. But then no one would think on a private discussion for the sake of business: "Comte de Marteille could only be swayed if I spoke to him directly."

The thought did occur to me that maybe Jacob was aware of his friend's predilections; scarier still maybe Jacob sent me over as pretty bait. Sod it then, if he already knew what would happen why pause the inevitable? Maybe I had less to hide; or maybe Jacob would have blackmail material on me. Then again the comte had even more to lose if discovered either way, I was sure confidences could be kept. I was fully aware my physical instincts were talking louder than my reason. I longed for a man's touch and Comte de Marteille seemed a strong and able enough man to provide it.

"It is growing late my friend, and I should retire soon," he said after a while. "I wish to have a private business discussion with you. I am sure your associates are most able, though I want more of a perspective on Sutcliff Agriculture from a Sutcliff."

"Perhaps tomorrow night then," I said. "We will be negotiating tomorrow after all, perhaps I could provide some perspective after the discussions."

"Such a wonderful idea. Meet me here at 7:30, I shall provide dinner."

The party wound down shortly after and my fellows and I returned to our quarters.

"You spoke with the comte for a bit of a long time, I hope you talked some sense into him," Mr. Anderson said.

"I merely shared some perspective on behalf of my family," I said. "I learned he greatly honors family tradition, I believe he will be a bit more receptive now."

I didn't tell anyone else about my plans to meet with him later, though I doubt anyone would question any need to speak with him in private after the first day of our negotiations. I did take care in choosing my outfit the next day; something business appropriate that could easily work for a quiet night in with such a high-class man. Changing in the evening might look a bit suspicious.

Meetings commenced around 10 o'clock the next morning and Marteille was speaking a bit more; a bit more to put us in our places and tell us what his low starting offer would be.

"I am being generous with what little capital I have to offer," he said.

Naturally our financiers politely called bollocks. I managed to follow all the snaps and subtle insults in English and French that echoed through the large room, even adding a few of my own; I understood a bit more of the process now. After an hour or so it got a bit more ugly, the snips turning to right out shouts and the occasional slap of a table. Several hours and several pots of coffee and tea later, the shouting finally stopped, everyone's demands were a little bit more agreeable, and we decided to resume the next day. The comte gave me the perfect lead-in for a private visit later that night.

Around 7, I outright told my fellows I was going to speak to Marteille alone on behalf of my family. Most of my associates tried to talk me out of it or tried to tell me I was better having one of them accompany me.

"I assure you, I understand how his mind works," I said fetching my hat and cloak. "Gentry comes with a certain degree of stubbornness and entitlement, I speak his language in this respect. We're just going to sit down, have a friendly discussion over a few glasses. If he doesn't come to his senses by tomorrow, then my efforts were all for naught. There is no harm in trying."

There were a few sarcastic remarks of "God have mercy on you," and "Enjoy the fight" with a few smirks and shakes of the head. I knew I was being called a stupid boy the moment I was out of earshot, though I truly didn't care. I boarded the carriage for Marteille's apartment, making sure every article of clothing on me was neat and pristine, though hopefully it would be tossed to the ground anyway.

The thought crossed my mind a thousand times that this was a bad idea. Jacob could find out everything, or perhaps the comte's tastes were a bit more savage. However, regardless of how little he planned to invest in the company, he had everything to lose by being too impolite with me. One wrong move and I could have the deal called off. There was, however, was a certain code of silence and mutual agreement men of such intimacies kept; a contract of sorts. We could both destroy each other with a few words, though he held more sway over me by his status. I had little recourse by telling Jacob of any brutality, though he had much to lose reporting our activities back to my brother. No matter what Jacob suspected about him, I doubt the comte would ever outright admit it.

I came to the conclusion, whether through true logic or physical desperation pushing out true logic, that this was the better decision. After all I could still sway him to see more of our side, or perhaps Jacob's intended bribe would work; perhaps showing the comte a little physical kindness would be beneficial to the company. Yes, I was aware this could be considered prostitution in a sense, though I saw gaining something material from such a glorious act as only a favorable situation.

The comte's butler greeted me at the door first and took my hat and coat. Marteille walked in a minute later in a much friendlier mood than I had ever seen him. The cook was making supper, Marteille had me join him in his study for some drinks while we waited.

"I hope you are not too cross with me for earlier today," he said.

"As a man of business, I would say yes; though to your credit you conducted yourself well despite that verbal melee," I said.

Cue the ensuing business discussion. I did my part to defend my family's point of view, by now I had the same lines memorized and prided myself on my improvisation skills. He took his own cues, but I would tell his heart wasn't into the performance. His eyes, however, were all over me. I loosened my cravat a little and exposed my neck a bit more and watched the smirk make a modest return.

Dinner was served soon after. We sat at this small dining room he said he reserved for personal gatherings, though a crystal chandelier and blue and gold wallpaper made it no less extravagant than any of the other rooms. There was little conversation here, only the act of enjoying our delectable meal. We had an exquisite _confit de canard_, the duck was cooked to perfection and the sauce was mesmerizing. Everything on that table was artistry right down to the bread and cheese plate at the end. By the fig tarte tatin, I was singing my praises for his cook's mastery.

"I am always generous to my guests, especially someone so honored," he said, taking a sip of his wine.

"You are a most gracious host, my lord," I said.

We moved to the study for some coffee and a glasses of Sauternes. Our business conversation resumed to a milder level, though we were leaning into each other a bit closer.

"If it is not too rude, might I ask your age?" he said.

"I do not find it a rude question," I said with a slight smirk. "I will be 17 in November."

He gave a little chuckle.

"Such a strong man yet so tender in your years," he said. "I admire youth. I never appreciated my own, though perhaps it has been better for me to admire it from afar; savor it more properly when I am of an age to do so."

I felt calf gently brush against mine, silk stocking against silk stocking.

"I have been of a mind to appreciate my youth to the absolute fullest," I replied with a sip of my own wine. "May as well enjoy one's vitality when one still has vitality to enjoy, then again the Reaper makes no distinction for age."

"Enjoy life at its fullest at every moment," he said. "I admire such spirit."

"I do respect those with more years of wisdom," I said. I took the liberty of stroking down the small ponytail on his wig. "In fact I relish all that they can teach me."

Marteille's smile grew a bit wider. His hand caressed down my check and across my jaw. I leaned into his touch with a small smile.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his face leaning more into mine. "Such fair, porcelain skin; eyes like the sea on a bright day and hair like a brilliant sunset."

His hand ran over my hair. I felt him loosen the ribbon and my locks tumble down over my shoulders.

"Youth has been most kind to you," he said.

"Your beauty, my lord, is ageless," I said with sincerity.

"Pierre," he said, rubbing his nose against my cheek. "No need for formalities."

"Then it is simply Grell," I said, stroking his cheek.

He repeated the name softly against my face.

"German, is it not?" he said.

"A name from my mother's family," I said, though there was no need to express doubt as to how truthful that story had been.

"It is a bold name, I love it," he said. "Perfect for such a bold youth as yourself."

"I can be most gentle, Pierre."

I leaned my face in a bit further, feeling his breath against my lips.

"I merely want you to be you," he said.

He pressed his lips against mine. I wanted to weep in the presence of such happiness. The kiss itself was most exquisite, soon hands were running all over. He undid my cravat and caressed my neck. I slid the wig off his head, revealing thick blond locks. Pierre kissed up my neck, his tongue gently running up my jawline.

"Let us move this conversation to a more comfortable location," he whispered in my ear.

He took my hand and guided me from the couch, leading my through a back door into what was clearly a grand bedroom. He closed and locked the door, then pulled me in again for more kisses. I was willingly led onto his canopy bed, feeling his hands all over me. He was so gentle; this was none of Reg's rough desperation nor was this the pawing of an inexperienced schoolboy.

Pierre undid his cravat and threw his coat to the ground. I undid the buttons of his shirt and felt that strong, smooth muscle I had oh so missed. He was an athlete of some sort, his body was impeccably toned. The undressing process took a bit more time; I suspect he wanted to reveal me a piece at a time like opening a prized gift. He removed my shirt and caressed my chest with a look of awe.

"So strong, yet so slender," he said between kisses.

Pierre then removed my trousers, then my stockings. He kneeled over me and just looked at my whole nude form like admiring a work of art. He soon removed his own lower garments.

"I will be gentle on you, I promise," he said, reaching up to a small chest on his side table and opening it.

"I trust you will do your best," I said.

I smelled a beautiful oil like fresh lavenders. He took care with everything, I had never knew a man could be so gentle and so caring for his partner. Pierre caressed up my arms and proceeded to make love to me. My fingers slid through his soft hair as I gave out blissful sighs. He was a master at this; care was given to my pleasure and not only his own. I was locked in the soft embrace of this beautiful man, my back against a plush mattress and silk sheets; this was my form of heaven.

I do not know how long we spent in our bliss, every moment of it was like a movement in a symphony. I welcomed that final crescendo and waited patiently until the strike of his last ending chords. He collapsed beside me and caressed my face, leaning in for another kiss.

We both knew this moment would have to end soon; negotiations would resume in the morning. He gave me use of his personal washroom to freshen up, then went in when I was through.

"You were most excellent," he said after emerging from the room. "Forgive me for saying, but you are experienced in this sort of thing."

I was hesitant to answer truthfully, though after what we just did I may as well say it.

"I am," I said. "Does that bother you?"

He shook his head.

"True skill comes with practice," he said. "It also means you are more open-minded."

"Forgive me for asking, but I need to be sure this conversation…"

"Goes no further. Not even a question. I am aware how rigid the world has become to all forms of love and pleasure. Both of us have statuses to uphold in these trying times. Though our world behind these doors does not have to be so cruel."

He caressed my hair with these words.

"See me again before you leave Paris," he said. "Promise me that, Grell."

"You have my word," I said. "Though try to be a bit gentler tomorrow."

"I will do my best."

I dressed and left the comte with a kiss, then left his apartment and boarded my carriage. It was 11 o'clock on the mark when I left, enough time to look like we simply had dinner and engaged in some extensive conversation. I returned a few minutes later. Most of my fellows were still up and proceeded to ask for all the details.

"The discussions were cordial the entire time, though he is a tough nut to crack," I said. "I do think I talked some sense into him."

Discussions resumed the next morning. I put on my serious mask when the Comte walked in the room though we exchanged pleasant nods. Talks started again, though this time with much more civility. He was offering much more money this time.

"Mr. Sutcliff and I did have a little private chat," he said. "I am now aware of the importance of this deal to the Sutcliff family and if there is one matter that speaks to my heart it is the efforts of family."

There would be more preliminaries to discuss the next day, though we were closer to sealing the deal. All my fellows gave me handshakes and pats on the back when we returned to our carriage.

"I don't know what you said that got him to turn, but it must have been brilliant," Mr. Loring said.

"I don't know if you're the future president of our company or if England has a future diplomat," Mr. Atwell said.

I remained humble the whole time.

"As I told you, I speak his language," I said. "I understand his interests."


	18. Part 18

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 18**

The next two days were strictly business. A few more hard figures were being tossed around the next day. The day after we actually got into some discussions on potential office space. The Comte's partners could arrange some nice offices for us as part of the deal; naturally paying the rent would be our responsibility. I followed along with all discussions, improvising my lines and finding myself putting on more of mask of interest. My true visage, however, was becoming one of annoyed ennui. We had been in Paris for the better part of the week and most of our time was spent in dour offices sealed off from the world.

I found myself during these meetings trying not to stare out the grand windows and watch the people walking back and forth on the street. I would pull my attention up front at the right times. The rest of the time I would indulge in watching everyone from pretty ladies in wide dresses to scruffy-looking street musicians merrily strumming their guitars and shaking their tambourines. And here I was watching it all from a sealed room; I tried not to think of the metal window frames as bars.

Comte de Marteille's…I mean Pierre's mere presence was the most entertaining thing here. It was hard not to mentally undress him, hear his voice and imagine the sighs and moans he could produce. Such a shame it was he wore that horrible wig over such lovely blond hair; then again he looked so much more beautiful when stripped of all of his fineries.

We agreed to stay for another four days to get the figures and details fully worked out. I knew this work could be completed in three, though my fellows mentioned something about wanting some extra leisure time. For once I was pleased with them and for once I had some small hopes.

We finished the third day of discussions. As everyone was packing up their papers and chatting, the Comte put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me aside. My heart fluttered a little, did he want to meet with me for another private "business discussion?" Our associates were cleaning up and talking amongst themselves at the time, though eyes occasionally went to us.

"There are a few matters I would like to discuss with you in private," he said. "I had a few ideas I wanted to run by you as a Sutcliff; get some sort of understanding as to how your family would reason."

Outside I was a collected businessman, inside I was a giggling maiden.

"Most certainly, feel free to share whatever ideas you have," I said.

"How about you come to my apartment around 8, I have a dinner party to attend to before that but I will have some tea on," he said.

"That sounds absolutely lovely, I will be sure to be there," I said.

I stepped out later that night with little explanation and no questions. They were intelligent enough to understand the circumstances as presented; it really was none of their business though no one seemed to pay it any mind. No one seemed to notice when I put on another outfit; one with a coat of a rich blue color and a shirt with some ruffles on the sleeves.

It was near exactly 8 o'clock when I arrived at Pierre's apartment. His butler greeted me as usual, though he was just a few steps behind with a giddy smile. We settled on the same couch in the lounge for some idle chitchat, comparing a few notes about business. He did ask me a few questions regarding some of Matthew's business practices, apparently wanting an understanding of how to better work with him.

We were barely speaking for 20 minutes when he started leaning into me a bit closer. I gave him a few pointers from my experience of dealing with the baron whilst caressing the side of his face. This felt so gleefully scandalous; here I was talking about Baron Sutcliff as his business associate nuzzled my neck. Our words were soon muffled by our kisses, then we just stopped talking and started pawing. How happy I was to see that lovely golden hair again and run my hands over that bare chest.

"You clearly don't sit behind a desk all day," I said, caressing his taut abdominal muscles.

"Such a lifestyle bores me to death," he said, unbuttoning my shirt. "I do ride when I can, I enjoy hunting too, I should take you out with me sometime."

"I would love that," I said before kissing him.

"Tell me Grell, how did you get this lovely body," his hands caressed my calves.

"I also ride, I've won quite a few medals too," I said as my lips ran over his cheek. "I played cricket for a while."

"I just knew you were an athlete," he said, his hand slowly wandering up my leg. "Your form is perfection."

Talk mostly ended there, the undressing continued and the caressing became a bit heavier.

"If I become too rude, please do correct me," he whispered in my ear.

I simply nodded and let him continue kissing me. At first I thought this was just him being polite, The more we continued the more I realized this was a request to tell him to stop what he was doing at any time.

Oh the things he did. He became a bit more frank with me, which thrilled me to no end. I forget everything we did the next few hours but it was ghastly. One thing he never did was act rude, in fact he was nothing but a gentleman to me the whole time; never violent, never causing me any pain, his attention ever to my pleasure as much as his own.

We had one grand finale before settling down with heaving breaths and smiles. He poured some wine for us to enjoy whilst recovering. We gave ourselves about half an hour before washing off and replacing our clothes. At last we were all fresh and presentable, the ideal time for me to return to my fellows.

"I want you to return at least one more time before leaving, Grell," Pierre said as I walked for the door. "I shall give you a proper going away."

"I believe as much is in order," I said, kissing him. "I would most certainly enjoy it."

I arrived back to my quarters around 11. All my colleagues were asleep, everyone was turning in a bit earlier as work continued. I turned in as well and slept gloriously that night. The next morning there were a few questions as to how discussions with Comte de Marteille went. I merely said he was becoming more sympathetic to our family, possible for future investments. I got a few pats on the back for this.

We allowed ourselves another day to relax in the city, savor our surroundings before leaving in three days. I allowed myself a few indulgences; a nice new pair of shoes, some silk stockings, and a few rings. May as well leave here with a few pieces of French fashion in the little time I actually had to enjoy myself. I vowed I would return here someday though on my own terms.

I do recall staring at some lovely dresses I saw in the windows, admiring the French creativity for design and bold colors. I wanted to touch the velvet and ruffles on this one burgundy dress, how nice they must feel on the skin. The thought crossed my mind to lament not having a lady to order one for, though I never wanted a lady to begin with. For a second I actually pictured myself in it; the red velvet would make me look truly beautiful, the blue flowers on the lace would really bring out my eyes. I couldn't believe I was actually thinking this; I pried myself away and went back to walking.

I began counting down the hours until we would return to business as usual for the next few days. I wanted nothing more than to get a message when we returned to our quarters telling us Marteille was satisfied with the whole deal and we could spent the rest of our time in Paris like free men and not cattle allowed to graze outside for a while. Alas, no note; we were expected bright and early at 8 in the morning as usual.

We spent the evening in a few high class taverns; the type of place one can simply relax with the rest of the louts, or so my colleagues said. I was more than agreeable, every establishment we went to was significantly more down-to-earth than everything we had been exposed to in the past two weeks. I simply took in a couple glasses of wine at the first place, then decided to experiment with French ale at the next tavern. It was not as much to my tastes as the English variety, though I decided to have a few more just to test it.

I moved to the third establishment in a rather giddy mood. My fellows appeared to be in their own states of happiness at the time. I normally tried to watch myself with the liquor when around any member of my family, or any person who could report back to my family. That night, however, I stopped giving a toss the moment the first glass of cognac went into my hand. I was a bit more talkative that night than I had been during the whole trip to Paris, maybe even the entire time I had been away from school. A few more cognacs later and it felt like good old times; sheets went to the wind and all cares washed away. I would sing and talk and dance as much as I wanted like I always could before. Heaven had to have been a little tavern surrounded by all these lovely French signing voices with another glass in my hand.

I remember how kind my associates were to lead me down the shifting streets back to this mansion and give me a nice bed to sleep in. I thought them the most jolly fellows, I was laughing the whole time so they must have been jolly. I sang a few songs to them as a reward and included some lines from "Romeo and Juliet" to cap off the grand performance. I then went to my soft bed feeling rather pleased.

The next morning it felt as thought by brains were trying to push their way through my skull. I lay face-first on my bed, my head throbbing, my stomach cursing me out for lying in this position, but my body too weak to actually move. The sudden rapping on the door made my head scream even more. The butler entered to formally wake me for my day. I knew this routine, I had done this most mornings of the week at King's Crest. I managed to pry myself up, get dressed, and get presentable all while walking through a black haze.

I walked out into the apartment, hardly missing the glances in my direction and the merry snickers at my expense.

"It happens to the best of us, friend," Mr. Quinn said sipping his tea.

I sat through the meeting as attentive as I could, though my head pounded and my stomach surged the entire time. Pierre did ask me if I was ill.

"I must have picked up something small somewhere, it's really nothing I can't handle," I said.

I did see a corner of Mr. Loring's mouth go upward a bit, though my fellows stayed quiet. By the end of the day I was feeling much better and almost like new by the time the day ended. There were a few inquiries of "Head pounding a little less?" but otherwise this was not turned into a grave matter. My associates probably saw me as another chap who got a little too tipsy the night before and was paying for it in the morning; like any colleague or even like they had done any time.

These four might have seen it as usual bollocks, though I was sure Jacob would see it as another lapse in discipline. I wondered if Jacob had instructed them to keep an eye on my behavior during this trip. Then again it wasn't like I was getting soused every night; this was one exception an it really did not impede progress at all. In fact he already owed me a fat smooch on my hindquarters for the deal being this big and running this smoothly; my associates would surely attest to that.

We had two days left in Paris, two days left in a dark room discussing figures before leaving the morning after. The meat of the deal already passed, now we were discussing particulars. I was looking forward to spending one more night with our host; if the last time we met was that grand, I hoped our last meeting would be truly exquisite.

The final day of discussions, a chef and his assistants were on our doorstep with a letter from Pierre; this was his gift of a grand breakfast. The chef prepared a most wonderful meal for the five of us complete with champagne and the whole spread. The chef presented a special bottle of pinot noir to me as the "leader" of this expedition and in honor of my family.

We gave Pierre a round of applause when entering the room for the last day.

"No, thank you for your efforts and for your skills," he said most humbly. "It was merely a gift for you to remember Paris."

The last meeting was mostly signing papers and exchanging pleasantries. At the end of the day Pierre again approached me and asked me for "one last night of conversation before you return to London."

"You two really have become friends haven't you," Mr. Anderson said later that night as I dressed.

"He is a most witty and intelligent man," I said. "An amazing conversationalist, I am going to miss our chats."

"Though you'll write I'm sure," he said. "He seems like such a boorish fellow to me, polite though boorish. Though it seems you've managed to get through that armor."

"He is a lot friendlier than he seems, but it takes a lot to see that," I said. "But I believe the two of us have so much in common, we found that common ground."

All of them wished me well when I left the apartment and boarded a carriage for Pierre's house. The butler escorted me into the apartment with a gorgeous spread of meats and cheeses with Pierre pouring some champagne.

"I figured we would start out light with the large breakfast you had," he said. "I will have my chef prepare anything you desire."

"This will sate me for the moment," I said, slicing some brie on a baguette. "Though I will wish for more later."

I gave him a wicked look he returned with a smile.

We toasted to my time in Paris, to new friends, to successful business, to the Sutcliff family, and overall to good times. We enjoyed out food and chatted briefly, though wasted little time before we went into the bedroom and enjoyed each other's company a bit more intimately. He told me whilst taking my shirt off that a bath had been drawn. Oh was a bath it was; his bathing room was immense. My eyes caught immediately on the marble pool in the middle of the room and the steaming water inside it.

We finished undressing as he took a few steps into the bath, walking into the waist-high water and bidding me to join him. I walked in and lay back in the delectably warm water, inhaling the aroma of lavender salts and rosewater. This was such a sensual atmosphere, like something out of a fantasy. We bathed each other, caressed each other, kissed through the steam. There was so much bliss between us, so many forms of pleasure. Our last act involved my back against the tub, savoring the water and the gorgeous man over me.

We leaned against each other in the water when it was over, sipping our glasses of champagne in each others embrace. We let the wave pass and our sense return to us before getting up from the tub and toweling off. Pierre provided these soft robes and we sat in the study drinking chocolate with a splash of brandy. At last my hair dried out to presentability, it was now 10; our carriage would be leaving around 9 in the morning.

Pierre and I embraced for the last time and we shared a warm kiss. I actually felt as if I would miss him, though I knew when I boarded that carriage I would merely think on him wistfully. I knew I would probably forget him in the next few weeks; just another conquest. Perhaps he would be remembered more as the first man I had made love to since Reg, maybe that was cause enough to think on him. At the moment, however, I wanted to remember him always. Did I want to stay with him forever, live with him in all his Parisian splendor? That thought admittedly held little appeal for me.

"I wish you the best in all your endeavors, Grell Sutcliff," he said. "Write to me."

"I most certainly shall, my lord," I said. "May we meet again."

He escorted me to the door and tenderly kissed my hand. We parted with a final glance before the door closed. I thought of him on the ride back to the apartment, the lingering sensations still with me, the sound of his beautiful voice. I told the driver to take an extra loop around, allowing me to see more of this gorgeous city at night. I wanted my own view of Paris before leaving for who knows how long. I vowed I would return here; even if I was gray and withered, I would still return here before the Reaper took me. Perhaps we could make a vacation out of it, I'm sure even Death needed a nice holiday.

I returned to my apartment around 11, there would be little sleep tonight but I could do enough of that in the carriage tomorrow. All of my associates were asleep, allowing me my own time to prepare for bed. As much as I had fallen in love with this city, as much as I lamented so many lost opportunities, a part of me was eager to return to London.

There were a few inquiries the next morning on how my last visit with Comte de Marteille went. Pleasant as always, I said, talking about what an interesting man he is. There was little chit chat that morning, mostly gathering our effects and directing the servants to where everything should go. The carriages were lined up on the street waiting for us, the servants loaded and tied the last of our chests, and the drivers inspected the ties one last time before we were given the go ahead to board. I had my bag of books ready and my own seat, this time with Mr. Quinn and Mr. Atwell across from me.

The carriage left our apartment and went through the streets of Paris. I gazed out the window and savored the city for one last time. At last we were out of the city gates and Paris became farther and farther away until it was but a speck on the horizon.

"I'm going to miss that city," I said. "I need to come back."

"It is such a beautiful, intoxicating place," Mr. Atwell said.

I slept for the first part of the journey, I awoke somewhere near Verberie feeling a bit more refreshed and more able to enjoy the ride. Save for a few brief stops, we managed to get to Arras before dark and settled for the night at an inn. I had few pints of cider and struck up a few conversations with the locals as my companions slept. I allowed myself to get a bit more relaxed, though it was best if it stayed at that. I was in unfamiliar surroundings after all. I had a small headache when I woke the next morning, though it resolved itself after an hour or so. We boarded the carriages as soon as our lovely breakfast was done.

I savored more of the ride this time, knowing we had one day left before we were in Calais and boarding the ship. France was such a beautiful country, I almost wanted to spent more time in the countryside. How peaceful it was out here, yet how backward it likely was too. Perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. As we passed through the forest, my desire to return to England grew a bit more. I wanted to be back in London, I couldn't wait to audition for "Romeo and Juliet," I couldn't wait to continue some projects on my own terms.

By the time we reached Calais in the early evening, I felt at peace with leaving France. Fortune smiled on us again and the seas were perfect for us to board the ship and leave that night. I slept through most of the voyage. When I woke it was a little after dawn and we were in English waters, the port of Dover came into the horizon within the hour. I dressed and collected my effects as the boat landed. I was happy to walk on English soil again, I was indeed happy to be in my home country.

The journey for London resumed nigh immediately. A few hours later my fellows insisted we make a stop in Canterbury, I was agreeable. I loved Chaucer's writings and here I was walking the land of the pilgrims. Granted my fellows wanted to spent a few moments in prayer at the cathedral, thanking God for our safe journey back to England. I went along, but I was sure God had more important things to listen to.

We returned to the road after this rest. Nightfall came and we settled at an inn in Gillingham, leaving a little after dawn the next morning. The drivers said they hoped to make London a little after nightfall. I was content with my books most of the time plus a few naps, conversation was nigh over for all of us. All of us were exhausted and eager for home. The drivers were pushing their luck a bit, nightfall came and they insisted we were but a few hours away. Everyone was somewhat awake to whisper a bit about looking out for highwaymen.

The lights of London came into view by 9 o'clock in the evening. It felt so good to get closer and closer, see the roofs and smell the wood smoke. I imagined us entering the city like conquering heroes, though we were all a little too tired for such grandness now. At last we came by my apartment. I left the carriage happily and bid farewell to my fellows as my trunk was taken off the carriage.

I opened the door and went into my apartment for the first time in two weeks, lighting a lamp. Everything was the same as I had left it, the driver unloaded my trunk and I bid him good evening with a handshake and a crown for his troubles. I donned my bedclothes in a haste and practically crashed into the warm comfort of my bed.

I awoke to find an envelope under my door with our family seal. It was from Jacob, telling me to take a day of rest and recover from my long journey. He wanted to meet with me tomorrow to discuss our business progress. I stayed around the house most of the day, taking a little walk later in the afternoon.

By the evening I decided to hunt down my actor friends, the same company was wrapping up "The Merry Wives of Windsor." They saw me outside the theater when they all got out and immediately greeted me with warm smiles and pats on the back. Pints were on them that night, all it cost me were a few stories from Paris. I gave a few descriptions of the city and the people to keep things interesting over the decent English lager I had so missed. Then I heard something that truly made my heart leap in joy after these hard two weeks.

"You're still gonna read for us right, Rich?" Colin said. "We got a space for ya next week if you're still up for it."

"Hell yes I'm going to read for you," I said, receiving applause in return. "I've been working on it too."

I left the company at the end of the night to many words of "Can't wait for you to join us." Such lovely words before seeing my brother for the first time in two weeks, these words would be singing in my head when I saw that bastard again.

The inevitable came the next morning. The carriage picked me up, Simon saying my trip would be solo; apparently Jacob came to work much earlier. I entered the office again for the first time in two weeks, smelling nothing but ink and paper and seeing the usual drones at their posts. This was truly one part of London I hadn't missed at all. I knocked on Jacob's door, a merry voice beckoning me in. I walked in to see him pouring two glasses of red wine on the desk, raising one up with a grin as I entered the room.

"My brother, the financial wonder and diplomatic genius," he said. "We need to toast to your success."

Apparently he had received some reports. I took the glass and raised it with a humble smile.

"To Mr. Grell Sutcliff; to his prosperous negotiations and cool reasoning that will put this company in Paris and make us all very, very wealthy," Jacob said.

"Cheers," I said, clinking my glass with his and taking a sip.

He sat behind his desk and I took a seat in one of the burgundy chairs in front of it.

"Your colleagues reported everything to me yesterday with all the paperwork to back it up," Jacob said. "From what I heard the comte played it a bit hard, but you managed to soften him up."

"A little kindness does wonders, I merely spoke with him; gave him a little perspective," I said.

Jacob took a sip and leaned in a little closer.

"Mr. Anderson said you actually went to his house after that one grueling day," he said. "He couldn't have been too nice to you."

"Quite the opposite, he was a perfect gentleman. Very receptive," I said.

My part in this now was purely improvised, though the rudimentary details did not have to be lies. I was so used to telling these nonsense stories with the lads at school that it was second nature to me by now.

"Truly? That's certainly a side of him I have really not seen. From my knowledge he can be a bit of a brute."

"Fortunately I never saw that side of him, but then it was a matter of knowing how to talk to him perhaps."

"Oh dear, brother, his negotiations one-on-one are never fair. You don't think he was just humoring you?"

"That humoring got us a deal this large, something must have been sincere with him."

His brilliant smile relaxed a little and his brows slightly furrowed.

"I was told you two seem to have struck up quite a friendship, you went to his house a few other times."

"Oh yes, it surprised me as well. We became very close in such a short time. I felt we just connected."

His grin turned into a pleasant smirk that sent a red flag of warning in my brain.

"Grell, I do recall giving you a small warning about how his manner can get a bit overwhelming," he said. "I also recall telling you that you did not have to suffer it for too long. I hope you didn't do all this because you felt obligated. I only ask because I know he can be a bit rude."

"I assure you, brother, it was entirely by my own choosing," I said. "And I did not find him rude at all, in fact I rather enjoyed his company."

He swirled his wine in his glass and looked down at it with a stiff smile. In that moment I already knew I said too much. I had just been lead into a subtle trap and taken the bloody bait. Those words before we left; the comte being a "handful," how I did not need to be in his presence all the time. It was a warning. What did Pierre say the first time we shared intimate company? "I have come to appreciate youth."

Jacob knew this didn't he, I had been sure of it then but hadn't thought much on it. My urges were talking louder than my rationale, dammit the trap was right in front of me. Pierre liked younger men, Jacob surely knew this. Why the hell was I sent over for a deal I knew next to nothing about? Because I was pretty bait, like a busty barmaid selling a new drink to lustful men. I was sure I was also solely for looks, hence the warning about not having to share his presence. Perhaps Pierre received a similar warning; "My youngest brother is tender in the world, go easy on him" or something to that effect. He heard I spent time at his house and perhaps wondered if I had been forced upon. Oh no, as I just said, I truly enjoyed his company. It was like announcing to my brother that I enjoyed being buggered.

"I am certainly pleased to hear that," Jacob said. "You have an easy time making friends, Grell. That will get you everywhere."

His tone was the usual fake merriment, but hiding a softer edge than I expected. If he was hiding his rage he was doing so well. Then again if he already knew his friend was a sodomite, perhaps he was just as casual knowing his brother was one too. Perhaps this type of thing meant nothing to Jacob; it was likely he was already entrenched in all manner of sin, vice, and illegality, this was merely mine. Or he was filing the information away to blackmail me or as a way to finally destroy me, though even he knew he would have to be careful about this. No, it was likely he was filing this away for future use.

Then again perhaps I was just being paranoid, imagining context where there was none. How silly I must have looked right now, but then I could never be too careful with him.

"You have certainly made us proud, and you will have a front row view of all the particulars as they come to us," he said. "I will have you look over some papers tomorrow, but take the rest of the week off and return as usual on Monday. You will be compensated generously for every one of your efforts."

"Many thanks, brother, this has indeed been a most wonderful experience," I said, taking a few last sips of my wine.

We raised our glasses one last time before I finished my drink and took my leave. Jacob gave me a last parting toast as I walked out of his office.


	19. Part 19

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 19**

The dream of Paris was over, leaving me to wake up on Monday in my usual bed waiting for the usual carriage like nothing ever happened. All I had from the past two weeks were memories and a few souvenirs…and a few headaches caused by my big mouth and Jacob's little trap.

I hadn't spoken to Jacob all weekend and was downright dreading Monday morning when I would be his captive audience in the carriage. This would be his ideal time to press for a bit more information. I readied myself for my day whilst mentally preparing for whatever questions he might throw me, though I knew throwing questions would be a bit too obvious for him.

Deep down I knew there would be no mention of my "business discussions" with Comte de Marteille, he might mention the comte in passing and ask for a few more innocuous details from Paris. Jacob was not one for confrontation unless all of the cards were his hand and he was in a position to throw them at you. All he had now were a few interpretations of my ramblings, though I was sure he would be looking to build more of a case even for his own purposes.

He could have asked me about my visits to see how many lies I could generate, however this would only lead to a direct confrontation. Jacob was not going into any battle until his armory was stocked and ready to obliterate his target. Though what interest would he take in this matter? Would he treat this as a trifle or was this an issue of mortal importance? Who I spent intimate company with would be the trifle, the mortal matter was how much my actions could be exposed and destroy our family's reputation.

That was all that mattered to Jacob in the end; keeping his vast wealth and reputation; his holy writs were greed and prestige. Any actions by a younger member of the family that could jeopardize all of this were the graver concern, not necessarily what the actions were in the first place. This was especially true for a younger family member he had taken pains to set up and parade around to garner his own esteem. Such an arrangement could attract more esteem for Jacob, but a scandal of this magnitude could ruin him and everything he built.

I doubted, however, that Jacob would put such a social investment in me without understanding all of his risks. The fact he knew much about my rudeness on the younger students at school was only a small portion of what I was aware of, I was sure he had many ways of keeping an eye on all my dealings. Naturally many of my associates acquaintances were his associates and acquaintances and all he needed to do was ask a few casual questions.

I had done nothing that needed hiding since I arrived in London, however would anyone with any ties to King's Crest start flapping their lips to a supposedly safe individual? I doubted the little bastards themselves would say anything, they would expose themselves just as easily as they would expose me to Jacob. Though someone's relative or another student or staff member might voice their suspicions. Most King's Crest students were members of the gentry and their families intermingled constantly. Given Jacob's vast network of associates, I doubted Earl Phantomhive was the only parent with which Jacob kept regular contact and conversation about my manners and business.

I pushed my paranoia and discomfort aside to greet the carriage that morning and climb in across from my brother. He greeted me with his usual smile and a couple words about "back to the home perch." I acted casual and tried my best to relax, though stay on my guard. As predicted, there was little talk of the comte other than generic references to our business deal; even I was not picking up any jabs from this. I allowed myself to relax a bit, waiting for that mention at last. We arrived at the office with nothing but the usual polite conversation.

That was it, nary a mention of my visitations, no concerns or suspicions, nothing. The issue seemed nonexistent. Perhaps it was all in my head, perhaps he never suspected a thing. As tempted as I was to think this issue was done, I knew I couldn't be that stupid even if he was. This conversation just showed his intention to keep everything behind my back.

I cleared the hurdle with Jacob for now, but had to confront the reality of being back to the office. I fully woke from the blissful dream of Paris to the hazy, aching morning of this usual stuffy place and the usual stuffy routine. The dream was over and reality was staring me in the face though I walked around in a tired state with the bittersweet haze of the memory. It just made moving around in my own dull reality that much harder. Quite a few people commented on how hard it must have been to return to the march after such an exhausting journey. By the afternoon I resisted the temptation to smash a few faces in.

I was happy when 5 o'clock came by again, this time more tolerant of the ride with Jacob. Still not a word of any suspicions passed across his lips. I considered it a done matter on the surface though knew I would have to watch my back much more carefully. I stayed home that night and read more lines. I had most of Mercutio's "Queen Mab" monologue memorized by that point, but it was much more fun rehearsing it between swigs of whiskey. Mercutio was a colorful enough character to sound maddeningly happy as he is speaking of love and dreams to Romeo.

I rehearsed my movements and delivery in front of a large mirror and was so amused with how lively I looked, how free. The grand performer up on stage, it was as if my adoring audience was right in front of me. I forgot how many glasses I had at that point. I did remember thinking I would look like so much more of an ethereal actress if I actually had a pretty dress; these trousers and this plain white shirt looked so terribly dull. The thought came to me about that gorgeous red dress I passed by in Paris; I longed to put it on, but alas I passed by it. Why did I do that? It was such a lovely dress and it would have made me look oh so pretty. That sent me crashing on my bed in a fit of weeping.

I would wake to the first light of morning lying half off my bed, fully clothed, head pounding as usual. My eyes stung with old tears; at first I wondered how the hell they got there. The only recollection I had curled me further into a ball. I would be mentally laughing about it during the rest of the day as my headache subsided; an interesting mental distraction from the drudgery of the day.

Through the dark clouds that was my return to London, a little sunlight shone through; my actor friends wished for me to come to the theater and officially read for "Romeo and Juliet" the next Wednesday night. Rehearsals for their previous play were winding down and it was a few days before their performance, the perfect time to test some new talent. I worked a bit more on my form throughout the week, this time watching myself with the liquor and taking this seriously. I prepared Mercutio, but I was ready to get any little part they threw at me. If they wanted me to only play the Apothecary, I would gleefully play the Apothecary. This was after all the first time I had ever taken the stage. I had acted enough in my tender years, this was the first time I did so for sport and not survival.

Wednesday couldn't come fast enough. I waded through work and a few insipid parties practically counting down the days. At last I came home on Wednesday, put on some plain clothes, and rode to Mersey Hall. The company was milling around when I got there, all of them greeting me with smiles and slaps on the back. They allowed me a few minutes to mentally prepare myself and watch the existing members do preliminary readings. This circle of recitation made me think more of a literary chat group than hard auditions.

There were two other newcomers there, one of which was Colin's elderly aunt who Colin apparently talked into trying out. The cast's Romeo, a handsome if not plain fellow in his 20s, introduced his even plainer flatmate as a potential candidate. This was a small theater and not Drury Lane, I was rather amused by this close-knit little group.

At last I took the stage. My heart pounded, my skin wet from sweat, but the closer I got to that stage the giddier I was. I allowed myself a second to gather my bearings and launched into my monologue. After a few seconds I felt as if I had been doing this my whole life; all of those hours acting to the animals or to the servants culminated from play to this one reality. I allowed myself a look down from the stage and saw nothing but smiling faces with eyes fixed right on me. These were genuine smiles and not wooden masks of interest. This just prompted me further. I was only going to do half the monologue, but I went further to finish the speech.

I finished to a round of applause and cheers.

"I believe we have our Mercutio," Colin said.

My jaw dropped and I went numb for a moment before my mouth curved into one of the widest grins I ever had, so wide my face hurt but it was a wonderful feeling. I wanted to leap from the stage and embrace him, instead I gave a few clumsy bows.

In the end Colin's Aunt Roberta was cast as the Nurse. The other new boy Ephraim was cast as Benvolio after a reading that was surprisingly rich for his seemingly dull manner. Colin played Lord Capulet, he would also be playing the Apothecary. The role of Paris was taken by an actor who would be mostly managing backstage duties, but would go onstage for this small role. A few actors took on a few small roles each. It was an efficient arrangement; laughably simple, but efficient.

Rehearsal schedules would be decided on a weekly basis depending on everyone's schedules. We would receive 3 shillings a week per rehearsal and 1 crown a night per performance. Roberta and Ephraim seemed rather delighted to be getting this much. This was not elation that came with having all one's financial woes solved, this was pleasant delight to have something extra. I had more than a few month's worth of this pay stuck in my pocket threads; interesting how so little meant so much to these people.

Copies of the script were distributed to the cast, it was going to be so much nicer reading from this than the little book I had been paging through for weeks. This felt so much more official; I was going home with a script for a play in which I had been cast. There was no run to the pub that night, everyone said they had an early day and I decided it would be best to attempt some more sleep as well. The first rehearsal would take place next Tuesday evening, a safe night for me as most of the soirees were taking place on the weekend with the season over.

I hit that script hard over the next week, taking it up the second I got out of work. I would be rehearsing my lines in the same mirror though not with the same glass and bottle at the ready. This was serious business to me and I would take it as such. I would go to work and do my usual routine, all the while running my lines through my head and counting down the days until Tuesday. I did take the habit of putting the script in a bureau drawer when I was done with it. I always had this odd suspicion that someone could suddenly appear on my doorstep or be let into my house by the landlord and see the script sitting on a table.

The thought of this getting out to any member of my family was horrifying, I knew what the reactions would be. Matthew and Jacob would have a few pleasant words about getting distracted from the family's work, or more likely chastise me for soiling myself and my reputation with such low class company. This was no work for a proper, self-respecting young nobleman with a reputation to uphold. All it would take was for one worker or one off-duty servant to leak word of seeing me on stage to his or her master to sully my name, that was likely what they would say.

I put little worry into any word getting out. This wasn't the type of theater that received any patronage from the aristocracy; this was strictly the haven of the working slobs as audience and actors. Those who frequented our circles would not even set a toe in this area let along go into a theater. I doubted few servants even looked at me to recognize me. Even if they did, servants didn't gossip to their bosses unless paid to and this was matter was too silly to have any weight. The lads in our office, quite frankly, seemed too simple to enjoy Shakespeare.

I was mildly curious how my new fellows would react to my actual station if they ever found out. There would probably be a lot of "sir" and "my lord" or a lot of arse kissing for money or entry into my circles. I could see Colin making me his new best friend and subtly milking me for patrons. There could also be sideways glares and comments about how I was mocking their endeavor by being here. This was an establishment for the common man, they would sneer, and I had to have been looking down my nose at their work.

It was best then if neither side knew the other, if I kept my respective masks on tight. It was an interesting masquerade indeed, an intriguing one. Even in the same city, I could establish a whole different identity and a whole different set of affairs completely unknown to all my different circles. It was a thrilling thought.

Our first rehearsal was the next Tuesday at 7:30, I had most everything memorized and felt a bit more comfortable to leap into it. The first rehearsal was mostly a group reading, everyone reading their respective parts and starting the initial cues. It took me a few minutes to understand the flow of delivering dialogue with another person. I was corrected on a few things, but I endeavored to absorb everything as part of the learning experience. The week's schedule was favorable to all for a more formal rehearsal the next evening. This rehearsal mostly involved Juliet, Lady Capulet, and the Nurse with some work by Romeo and Benvolio. Aunt Roberta left a bit to be desired, her voice reminded me of a cat being skinned. I was most impressed with our Benvolio's delivery, he was a bit less stiff than he came across offstage.

Colin wanted me to stick around mostly to see how rehearsals were done. He said it would be unlikely we would get to my part tonight, though I should see what the process entailed. I took mental notes the whole time. Juliet was a lovely girl named Jane and gave a natural delivery; Romeo, or Sam, was decent but a bit too melodramatic. I was learning much simply by seeing what I disliked.

There would be another rehearsal Friday evening and then I would have my first opportunity to act with others. I had read this play so many times even before this, giving me a decent idea of Mercutio's mannerisms and personality. I went onstage with Romeo and Benvolio, listening for the right moments and giving my own lines. It felt like entering a conversation, only in this case every single word was scripted out instead of the sentiment. Colin would give instructions from the floor as to some movements and positions, sometimes he would stop us for recommendations on address. He called me out a few times for having too much of my back to the audience and I soon learned to watch that.

It was near the end of rehearsal when I did the monologue in a more formal way. Colin gave me different cues for my delivery. I lost my lines at one point, feeling the heat of embarrassment only to be relieved by a pleasant call-out by Colin and some good-natured smiles. It was to be expected perhaps. At the end of the speech, Colin stopped the action and got in front of the stage.

"Richard, your delivery so far is impeccable," he said. "Though you sound a bit stiff, a bit hesitant. You need to plow forward without hesitation, without question. Mercutio is a colorful bloke, you're nigh there but you need to get as unabashed as he is."

Colin delivered a few lines of the speech, instructing me on how to loosen myself a bit and I mimicked him exactly, getting the full breadth of his instruction. By the end of rehearsal he told me I was already making improvements and recommended that I practice a few relaxation techniques on a regular basis; deep breathing and light meditation worked wonders. I thanked him for his advice and looked forward to the next rehearsal on Monday.

Colin's words haunted me all weekend, they floated through my mind on regular intervals like a white fog. I wasn't reading them as harsh criticism nor was I seeing them as an ill reflection of my acting. They struck me in a more general sense I could not put my finger on. When the weekend was over, after a few teas with Jacob bantering about Earl Phantomhive's business plans, after a few gatherings of gentlemen discussing how many horses they would invest in this year, after listening to this whilst nodding my head and adding a few contributing words I believe I had my answer.

They called me "the Mad Ginger" at school at the time when I wanted nothing more than to take a long piss on all formalities and politeness. Now my entire existence was formalities and politeness, though had it all been such a change? No wonder why my acting was so stiff, I was maintaining my usual airs when I should be taking on another persona. This was the one place where I could let all of that go, the one place where I would benefit more from being a little less prim and proper.

I went all day Monday subtly practicing a few breathing techniques and learned more how to remove my muscles from the mental framework that held them in one place. That night we went over those scenes again and I delivered the entirety of the speech with no interruption.

"I see a vast difference from last time," Colin said. "Keep practicing those relaxation techniques."

I did take his advice to heart, but not only for acting. I found myself taking a few more moments alone in quiet contemplation, I even took my violin out again. I endeavored to look at my time at the office and my time spent with the rest of the rich bastards with less seriousness. This time my stiff propriety was becoming more my mask to my betterment. After a while I noticed I was content with a few glasses of wine on occasion and didn't feel the urge to numb myself. This thought alone was sobering for its own merits; the need for escape was not as strong. I found a pleasant balance switching out both my masks, not feeling I was betraying one for the other.

As the last days of October came upon us, rehearsals were more intense. There was one instance where Colin scheduled rehearsal for a Friday night, it was supposed to be the beginning of my big scene with Tybalt and Benvolio. That Wednesday Jacob said we had received a last minute invitation to a small gathering held by the Duke of Kent; attendance was nonnegotiable and I knew it. I approached Colin at the start of rehearsal on Thursday and told him, face hot with embarrassment, that I would be unable to attend Friday. My boss told me we needed to attend a business dinner held by the owner of the company and be briefed on new procedures, I told him. Colin nodded, pulled aside Benvolio and Tybalt, and the four of us negotiated another time over the weekend to meet to begin the scene. Just like that the matter was settled agreeably.

"Everything is manageable, Mr. Morris," Colin said, clapping me on the back. "Everything."

Friday I put on my absolute best clothes for the grand banquet with His Grace the Duke of Kent. Sunday afternoon I put on some rougher clothes and met with Colin and the other two actors for an hour or so to begin the big scene. Everything was indeed manageable.

Colin set aside one evening solely for theatrical swordsmanship. I had done a little fencing in school and understood the basic terms and techniques. This time every move was mapped out, every parry and thrust going with a specific line. It added to the acting a bit more. Granted it was difficult to keep up with lines and parries at the same time, though I found it made the dialogue that much more dramatic. Tybalt, or George, was a bit rough with his foil and was told a few times to not swing down so hard. He accidentally poked my arm and immediately drew back with ample apologies, we both had a bit of a laugh on this.

A few days before All Saints Day, Jacob told me he was going to be throwing a party for me on my birthday. I expected this, though truthfully in the midst of everything I almost forgot my birthday was but a week away. He wanted to throw a nice celebration for me, though he wanted to do something much grander for my 18th birthday next year. Regardless he had a whole guest list of our mutual acquaintances and asked me what I wanted served, what music to have. I just threw a few suggestions; this was his concept and I wanted little part of it.

Last year I spent my 16th birthday watching a horrible production of "As You Like It" and would go later to a pub, get smashed, and share toasts with the worst people I had ever met. And now I would spend my 17th birthday in the same stuffy townhouse I was holed up in for two months surrounded by people I didn't know and didn't like and paraded around once again like a ruddy mannequin to gain more attention for my brother. Though did the day have to be that bad?

We started sorting out the next week's rehearsal schedules. I told Colin the next Wednesday would be no good for me; I was a captive audience for my family on my birthday. The round happy words and gentle laughs made me smile more than a little.

"What time will you get done with your family, we should all meet up at the pub later and give you a toast," George said, ironic since a few minutes back he was poking me in the side with a foil for Mercutio's grand death scene.

Jacob's parties never went past 9, I told them 10 and we were all agreeable to meet up at our usual haunt. Jacob indeed scheduled the party for 6, he told me it would indeed be a modest affair since it was the middle of the week and we all had early mornings. He told me that following Monday to take Wednesday off with pay; consider it a present.

I stayed up past midnight Tuesday night and cracked open the bottle of pinot noir Pierre had given me. At the stroke of midnight I toasted to my 17th year on this earth.

"Enjoy what little time you have to the fullest, Mr. Sutcliff," I said quietly to myself with a smirk, gazing into the bright red liquid in my glass; the words of the mysterious Arthur sounding a bit amusing now. "After all, we're only here a short while."

I slept in for the better part of the day, then did a little riding, went window shopping and bought myself a few gifts. My eye caught on a few lovely dresses in a few windows, admiring the subtle English ruffles and more modest colors than the dresses I saw in Paris. I allowed myself these extra looks, humored my fancy a bit even though this line of thinking was loony even for me. I would pull myself away shaking my head, just wondering what the hell I was thinking.

It was a most relaxing day, unfortunately it ended the first moment I dressed and readied myself for Jacob's party in my name. I put on a nice black coat and a cravat with lace ruffles. It was attire more appropriate for a funeral perhaps though why did there need to be a difference: I would be on display like a corpse anyway. I just needed to remember at 10 I was going to a much grander party.

Simon picked me up with the carriage as usual, this time taking me to Jacob's townhouse. Jacob greeted me at the door and gave me a clap on the back with a few kind words. The guests started to arrive half an hour later; most of them business associates and acquaintances. This was more a gathering for Jacob's friends; I really didn't have any friends in these circles, did I? There were a lot of bows, a lot of pats on the back. There were quite a few small packages, that I did enjoy: books, brooches, a few household things like fine cups and silver spoons. I received a few stock shares that would certainly come in handy. It was the modest affair I wished for. I went light on the wine, saving some room for later on.

As predicted the guests started filing out around 8:30 and were completely gone by 9. I bid Jacob a polite good evening. He simply gave me a bow with one last "Happy birthday, brother." I collected my gifts and rode home. The moment I got in my apartment, the gifts went on a table and I was changing into my simpler clothes. Around 9:30 I rode for our usual pub.

A cheer went up in the room as I entered. All my fellows from the theater were there raising a glass to me. I got a pint of cider and joined the real party. There was a lot of talking, a lot of singing, there was a lot of general advice about appreciating youth that I actually found sincere. I kept myself to a few pints and simply appreciated the company, I felt I got to know my fellows a bit more that night.

Colin raised one last toast at the end of the evening:

"To Richard Morris on his 17th birthday, may there be many more and may his years all be joyful."

Interesting how a toast to my fake name was meant more to me than my real one. Interesting how my real life had a fake name whilst my real name was plastered on a lie. "What's in a name" as Juliet herself said.

I raised my glass with me fellows, feeling truly appreciated by someone for once.


	20. Part 20

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 20**

The first dress rehearsals were scheduled to begin in mid November. Our main backstage marm Georgia took our basic measurements for costumes. This was not done for their construction, rather to see what garment hanging from the theater's collective wardrobe fit the best on us. The theater had a whole collection of appropriate clothes that had been added to and altered repeatedly over the past few years. All of them were sorted by style and size in a closet and we were given a few outfits to try out.

All of the garments smelled like old wood and paint and had a stiff feel to them. I saw this as another example of how simple and quaint this whole operation was, ignoring the mild feeling of disgust it gave me. The choicest costume for me was a blue tunic with puffy sleeves and simple embroidering around the neckline accompanied by similarly puffy black trousers and thick white stockings. Georgia also gave me a nice leather belt for the tunic to tighten the material around my waist so it didn't hang to my calves, though nothing could be done about the billowing trouser legs. It was all in the name of theater; this was merely a costume and not something I would ever wear out in polite society.

Colin made the suggestion that I keep my hair down; it would certainly make Mercutio appear more young and dashing. I was most agreeable to this, I rarely had the opportunity to go about with my hair flowing free. It felt most liberating to leave my lovely locks in their natural state and not choked off by a ponytail.

As rehearsals continued, Georgia did make-up tests on us. Before now I had never had the desire to powder my face at all. Men of my station who did that tended to be rather shallow and pompous. I just needed to think about those stark white faces in Paris with the overuse of rouge and that was enough to dissuade me. This was, however, the theater and I was agreeable at this one time.

The texture was off-putting at first, though Georgia put it on lightly and not in such a way to make me look like some kind of porcelain doll. It seemed to bring out my features, cover up a bit of that lingering shadow that all men have and no amount of shaving can fully clear. I found I looked quite…lovely? No, that couldn't be the word, but perhaps it was. She lightly lined my eyes with charcoal, it brought out the blue color a bit. I found I was quite pleased with what I saw, perhaps this was something I could get used to.

At last all the pieces were in place for our last dress rehearsals. I would walk onstage and take my cues imagining a theater full of people watching my every move. Hopefully it would better prepare me for that first glorious moment on stage in front of an audience at last. My lines had sunk deep into my brain, I knew the blocking by heart though I still kept my muscles loose. The more run-throughs we did, the readier I became.

The first night of the play was the 21 of November. The schedule would become more regular from here on, the play running Thursday through Sunday nights. We were told should a conflict arise, it was not an issue as all the backstage crew knew everyone's role by heart and were prepared to step in at a moment's notice. Just let Colin know and something can be arranged. The thought of losing an opportunity to Jacob's social schedule, however, was more than a little frightening. Fortunately the social calendar was becoming sparser and sparser the more we got into November. It would pick back up again around Christmas, though I still had another month to concern myself about that. Jacob had nothing planned for the immediate future and no one seemed to care that I was supposedly spending more time to myself. Naturally I thought up a hundred different explanations and excuses for why I wasn't being as social, though the subject never came up.

I counted down the days until taking the stage for the first time. I expected that week to be torturous with anticipation, instead it was a pleasant distraction. This lowly office worker surrounded by all these noble idiots would be a stage star in just a matter of days. We had one more rehearsal on Wednesday to prepare for the opening on Thursday. I tried more to imagine the house packed with admirers. In truth I had no idea how I would feel standing on stage in front of this many people.

We were told to arrive by 6 o'clock in the evening on Thursday to get our make-up and costumes on. The curtain would rise at 7:30. That day at work was torturous, I found my nerves catching up with me though I tried every attempt I could to relax. I kept calm for the carriage ride back to the apartment, Jacob was idly talking about some new accounts. I was infinitely glad no mention was made of any sudden gatherings or meetings. I went home per usual, allowed myself a small glass of wine, and got on my rougher clothes for the night.

I arrived at the theater at 6 on the dot to find the others casually getting into their respective characters. My costume went on, Georgia applied my make-up, and I ran my lines through my head to get them absolutely perfect. Colin came out with a giddy smile and said we had a packed house. My heart started pounding and I felt a bit of sweat build on my back. I actually realized I was terrified; I had never done this for more than a few people in a rehearsal environment, now there had to have been nearly a hundred people outside those doors waiting for a perfect performance.

"I know it sounds like a lot of people, but you'll love every minute of it," Colin said. He must have seen my reaction. "They'll become part of the performance. What I wouldn't give to be back in your shoes now, Mr. Morris."

I could only smile at this; I was indeed walking into one of the greatest moments of my life.

All of us gathered round behind the stage, rehearsing a few difficult lines and doing a last minute polish on our sword moves. Colin gathered us around him.

"You all are amazing actors, go out there and show everyone what you can do," he said.

At last the clock read 7:30. The Chorus stepped out on stage and all of us heard a collective cheer to mark the beginning of the play. The Montague's and Capulet's came out next and their dialogue provided a nice distraction from my nerves. All of them were quite good. Our Benvolio approached the back entrance with the same nervous look I was wearing. We simply looked at each other and smiled in sympathy. His cue came and I gave him a light slap on the back as he went out. He immediately went into his lines with a strong tone like he was Benvolio approaching Tybalt. If he could be that good, what did I have to worry about?

I was rapt in the performances I head from behind the set. Ephraim was a magnificent Benvolio indeed. I was happy Sam toned down some of his melodrama for Romeo, though it still came about on occasion. Colin was perfection as Capulet, though he had decades to practice his art. I found Juliet a little too breathy for my liking even still. Aunt Roberta's screeching delivery as the Nurse gave me a headache, though it was a role that did not require much charm.

At last Sam, Ephraim, and I gathered for the next scene. My heart pounded a bit more.

"Scared?" Sam said with a good-natured smile.

"Terrified," I said with a grin.

"We all start out as virgins," he said with a wink. "Happy first time."

I snickered at the comment. The closer it came to our scene, the more the sweat ran down my back. I was completely petrified, I couldn't even take a few steps forward for my muscles felt glued in place. This couldn't be happening; this was the moment I had waited for my entire life and I was going to botch it in front of all those people. To consider Sam's words, however, at least I was sober enough to enjoy this horrifying mess as opposed to my first time in bed with someone. At least this time it was consensual.

At last it was our time out. We all gave each other hearty slaps on the shoulder and walked out the door. My legs were moving on their own volition though I was numb to everything else. I decided if I messed this up, I would do so grandly. I walked out and took one peripheral glance at the audience. I saw men and women, a few children with them. All of the staring upwards, all of them clapping as we entered. I realized I was now standing in front of a theater full of people; all here to see us, all here to see me take the stage.

I felt I had missed this place all my life, that I had been exiled from this utopia and was returning to it a conquering hero. I was made for this moment. I took my usual place around Romeo and Benvolio. Their dialogue was like an everyday conversation to me as it was the first time I ever rehearsed with these gents. After all every dialogue I had ever had with anyone in my life had been scripted, all my lines rehearsed, all my movements carefully blocked. This time it was in a place where I felt truly at home. Every other time had been for show, this felt truly real. At last my time came.

"Give me a torch," Romeo said. "I am not for this ambling being but heavy. I will bear the light."

This was it.

"Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance," the lines were so natural to me by now.

"Not I, believe me," Sam continued. "You have dancing shoes with nimble soles: I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground I cannot move."

"You are a lover: Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above common bound," I was perfectly relaxed now, I was Mercutio in this moment.

I was having a conversation, but one far more pleasant. No, I was not Mercutio; nor was I Grell Sutcliff, nor could I consider myself Richard Morris. I was me pure and simple; I needed no character name, I needed no role, I just needed to be. I was where I needed to be now; talking about dreams with a fellow pretender.

I went into the Queen Mab monologue as if I was predestined to give this passionate speech, like I knew all these fairy creatures I spoke of. I took my steps away from Romeo and took a good look at the audience. All eyes were on me: I saw smiles, mouths slightly open, the occasional chit chat between people though I was given the floor. This spurred me on further. My fists were in the air for my last lines of the monologue, yelling "This is she!"

At last I felt strong arms on me shoulders pulling me around, Sam's face in mine. The crowd roared with applause, I was the man of the moment.

"Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!" Romeo said. I felt as Mercutio did, pulled back to earth after soaring through the air. "Thou talkst of nothing."

"True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy…"

I was amazed at how I could bring myself down so easily and continue with the rest of the peaceful dialogue. At last we were leaving the stage with Romeo's call of "On, lusty gentlemen."

We ran from the stage to thundering claps and shouts. Blood coursed through my veins and I felt I could take on the world. Colin stood beside the stage and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me into a loose embrace.

"You were brilliant, Rich, beyond brilliant," he said.

I could only nod with a few breathy words of thanks. No one had ever recognized me with such sincerity before. Nothing I had ever done warranted such legitimate words of praise. I felt I could melt, instead I waited for the Servingmen to leave the stage to go back on with the rest with my mask on. Every moment from then on was a new experience, I savored every single second on that stage in front of all those people. When I was not in the scene, I gleefully watched this all unfold from backstage. I had seen several versions of this play and read it so many times I knew every part by heart. Here I was making a production of it, here I was involved in a grand creation.

I was on fire when I took the stage for what would lead to Mercutio's death scene. This was the moment I had to remember all of the sword moves and not let my lines get tripped up. I had my sword in my hand at the right moment after Tybalt's taunts and I knew it was only a natural course from here. George must have practiced a bit more for he did not jab me once during the whole exchange. Romeo nearly tripped over me for the part where Mercutio was stabbed, though he kept his footing. George actually passed his rapier under my arm and brushed it against my side as he was supposed to instead of jabbing me as he usually did.

This would be my grandest moment in the play. I nigh convinced myself I had taken a fatal wound with the Reaper looming over me though I tried to remain flippant to the end. I was particularly proud of how I delivered the line "A plague o' both your houses." In the corner of my eye I could see ladies covering their mouths and men gazing at me with wide eyes. At last I was dragged off the stage by Benvolio, only taking a healthy step until I was sure I was out of view. I received a round of applause from the rest of the company when I returned backstage. I poured myself a glass of wine on a side table and enjoyed the rest of the show.

At last Romeo swallowed his poison, Juliet stabbed herself, and the Prince gave his final lines. The company broke from the stage to thunderous applause. After a few seconds, the more minor characters went up for their curtain call, then it was my turn. I stepped out onstage like a giddy prince and was embraced by a whoosh of exuberant claps and cheers. I looked out at every smiling face and clapping hand and felt I was truly home. Our Romeo and Juliet later came out to their roar of applause and we all joined hands for the last bow. The cheers and claps still floated through the air as we left the stage and died down like a passing storm.

All of us embraced backstage, there were numerous pats on the back and bows for respective jobs well done. Ephraim and I shared a tight embrace; we had just gotten though our first stage experience together. Eventually all make-up was cleaned off, costumes put back, and our mundane clothes replaced. We went to the pub and shared many toasts for a prosperous opening night. I truly felt I belonged with these fine people now. I was not merely on the outside looking in; my experience was theirs, I was a part of them now.

It almost pained me to leave for home, though I knew all of my other friends were returning to their own mundane existences as well. This was simply a life we shared.

"Glad to have you with us, Rich," Colin said as I was leaving. "You're an amazing actor already and you'll only get better."

I felt truly touched.

"Much appreciated, thank you for the opportunity," I said.

I returned to my usual apartment to get ready for the usual next day at work, though I didn't feel like my usual self. I felt I was part of something greater. I woke the next morning feeling a small twinge of panic; what if someone at the office had seen me last night? What if one of our associates said something to Jacob? I brushed off the thought; if Jacob confronted me on it, I would tell him right away. That wouldn't change my involvement with Mersey Hall, nothing Jacob could do or say would stop me from returning.

There was some amount of mental preparation going into the carriage and waiting for Jacob to say something. The circumstances were not as dire as after our initial talk about Comte de Marteille, though no less unnerving. When we left, Jacob immediately went into a tirade about a labor dispute among shipmen that could delay the transport of some important materials. That was the only thing on his mind that morning, I merely followed along with a few pithy words. There was nary a mention of it at the office and the day proceeded as normal.

It freed my mind so I could concentrate on the second night of performances. I went home per usual and almost immediately got my rougher clothes on. After waiting to make sure the coast was clear, I went back to the theater for the second night. I was ready to do this again, I desired it. The other night was a trial run, now I was ready to take all my experience and do magnificent things. Colin was right, I was still very green and could only improve with experience.

Everything from slipping on my costume on to having make-up applied to hearing the audience file in gave me goose bumps. I was truly happy with every little part of this. A part of me was scared I would botch the second night after doing so well the first. I tried not to worry about it, only vowing to do what I knew I did best.

The first moment the Chorus came on stage I knew this would be excellent. I stepped out for my opening scene with nothing but confidence, the Queen Mab speech like a natural conversation. I was rewarded again with thunderous applause for my efforts. I could see subtle improvements in my costars too. Roberta was toning down her voice, Jane was putting a bit more passion into Juliet, and Sam was becoming a bit more natural as Romeo.

I nearly dropped my sword at the beginning of the fight scene with Tybalt; my face flushed for a moment, but I realized it was truly a trifle. I made like I was doing a casual move with it and continued as usual. My death scene was a bit more comfortable to me now, though I learned to insert the right amount of drama. I left the stage again a conquering hero and returned to my adoring audience at curtain call.

Everyone scattered to their respective homes after the performance, this time my home felt a little sweeter. The next day I went through work as usual though pined for later in the evening. When I returned to the theater, a small voice of worry squeaked out that I could very well get bored with saying the same lines every night and hearing the same story. I did not handle repetition well, though all my concerns were silenced the third night I took the stage. Perhaps the problem lay in doing things and being in places that bored me to tears or aggravated me. This was hardly boring and this was pure bliss, perhaps doing this play over and over would prove more of a treat than a chore.

The third night, while holding more of the expected, was just as blissful. I realized by the fourth night that no two shows were ever alike. There were different audience members and different dynamics. We all seemed to make subtle changes in our performances and do small errors only we could catch. Every performance was like a snowflake; falling in its own beautiful pattern depending on the materials that made it.

It weighed on me more that the fourth night was the last one for the week. Colin wanted us to return on Wednesday for some touch-ups. As much as I had been concerned about repetitiveness, I found myself more concerned with the dullness of the ensuing days. Colin gave each of us our four crowns at the end of the evening. I had been putting my wages into my purse thus far and using them as extra pocket money. When I went home that night I actually thought about the little money I had been receiving for this experience. Perhaps it could add up for some legitimate purpose.

On Monday I decided to look into a few documents and listen to a few conversations pertaining to various banks around the city. The name of one bank came up in one investment document. The next day as soon as I was home and settled in, I decided to change into my rougher clothes and take a little trip to this one bank in Holborn with my acting wages. I was sure to watch over the process of creating an account when Jacob and the banker essentially did it for me. This time I was sitting down with my modest earnings. My name is Samuel Weston and I would like to open an account, I have been doing assorted odd jobs and need a safe place to put my money. I found the banker most agreeable, a little unwashed though still agreeable.

I put about six crowns into my new account, every farthing away from Jacob's watch or grasp mattered. I decided I would put all of my acting wages here and make a point to hold aside a few more pennies to grow to fruit. I prayed to whoever was listening that Jacob would never find this account, though he had no specific business here nor did he have any connections to this area. If I were wise and watched myself he never would.

After this bit of business was over, I looked even more forward to Wednesday when this wonderful routine would start again. So far there had been no mention of any more social engagements, likely this was indeed the routine. Jacob actually mentioned this on the ride into work on Wednesday.

"London this time of year gets a bit boring," he said. "I do hope you are being constructive with your time."

"It is no matter," I said. "This has given me much relaxation and reflection time."

"And such is important," Jacob said. "It is important to keep that balance of activity and rest."

I was on edge the rest of the day, counting down the hours until the end of work. At last that wonderful time came and I was on the carriage home, changing as soon as I got into my apartment, and leaving for rehearsals. Riding to Mersey Hall was like riding to my true home. Seeing all those familiar friendly faces warmed my heart. We took a few hours to get back into shape for Thursday. Aunt Roberta made us all a pot of stew with fresh baked bread that we all sat and enjoyed. What she lacked as an actress she made up for as a cook.

It was hard to return to my apartment at the end of rehearsals, but I just needed to remind myself that I would be returning the next evening to shine on stage. That made the next day easier to get through; the feeling like my working self was a cover for my true identity and I would have the moment to fully reveal my true nature later in the evening. At the end of the day, I hung up that persona with my regular clothes and rode towards my real home to be who I truly was. Those few hours that night, and the next night, and the next meant more to me than all the hours I spent as my normal self; though who was the real person? Certainly not this whelp in a proper black suit, hand stained in ink, and wearing a serious demeanor all the time.

At the end of Sunday night, I would have to transition back into that persona for the next two days. I found the opposite was more true. I was always in a disguise, my costumed self was indeed my true form; that made the hours a bit more bearable. I had some reprieve on Tuesday afternoon when I deposited my crown and 3 pennies into Samuel Weston's account. Another collection of coins earned for my own merits. I would return to my true workplace Wednesday evening in preparation for another Thursday night's performance.

I was noticing the crowd growing larger with louder applause. Colin told us sales had been going up for this play. It was typical for the big autumn production, though this year's showings had been a bit better attended. He credited the genius skills of all his players, least of all his new talent, for our success.

Saturday night was a packed house, which made it even more fun to step up the Queen Mab speech a bit and rib the Nurse with a little more guile. I was particularly proud of Mercutio's death scene and even more proud of Romeo's subsequent murder of Tybalt. I really heard the emotion in Sam's voice. We were all in amazing form that night, all of us seemed so perfect.

At the end we all gathered for our curtain calls. The wall of jubilation on my entrance was like fire in my veins. Amid the claps and calls, I heard one voice near the front that made my hair stand on end. A male voice cried, "Bravo, Mercutio, bravo!" It sounded familiar…too familiar. I shoved aside my momentary discomfort; it was my mind playing tricks on me. My paranoia shoving into my happiness with some idle threat. I was distracted from my unpleasant thoughts by the appearance of Benvolio and then Tybalt.

At last we clasped hands, taking a moment to admire our audience. I took one look in the front row, seeing a series of men and women in their common clothes. My eye caught the sight of close-cropped red hair then the smarmy face it belonged to. My stomach twisted, my heart pounded with growing rage. He wore a simple brown coat over a regular shirt, a black riding cloak over it. There was no cravat, naturally no wig. The bastard blended right into the crowd in this low-class attire though I would know that face anywhere.

Jacob eyed me with a wide smile, yelling with the rest of the audience and clapping. I wanted nothing more than to jump off this stage and wring his fucking neck; pull his bloody head off and hold it high like Yorick's skull. This was my safe haven, my territory; this was everything I worked for and he found his way inside. He knew about this and he presented his knowledge right as I took the stage; right in front of my friends, right in front of my audience. This was an unspeakable crime for which he deserved to die horribly.

Instead I took a subtle breath and joined my fellows for the final bow. This was my territory, my moment. I wasn't going to let this smarmy arsehole take that away from me; not now, not ever. In this moment, however, he was wearing a happy face and applauding merrily. He wasn't leaping on the stage to drag me off, nor was he subtly tearing me down by calling my real name. Instead my brother was actually standing there with a look of seeming interest.

He was a magnificent actor in his own right; this was just the introduction. Though why couldn't I push out this feeling that things looked good on their head; why did I actually feel as if this was a promising development? Because perhaps I had grown that hopelessly optimistic. I knew better than to take that for reality.

I left the stage as usual, blowing some extra kisses to my adoring crowd. I immediately prepared myself for how I would deal with him later.


	21. Part 21

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 21**

I imagined Jacob was long gone from the theater by now. He wasn't going to keep quiet about this, though when he would unleash his nonsense was another matter. I couldn't see him holding onto this gem until Monday; springing this upon me on the carriage ride to work would just result in a loss of productivity. I could see a note under my door inviting me for Sunday tea and humiliation. Perhaps the bastard was hanging about at the moment waiting for my exit so he could have it out then.

I tried looking casual whilst cleaning off my make-up, though I was scrubbing so hard I would be leaving red blotches all over my face if I wasn't careful.

He wouldn't want to speak to me out on the street; now was not the ideal time for a more public tongue-lashing. He would likely pull me into his carriage or rather speak with me in a more quiet corner though not entirely in the alleyway. How many people would be around? He would want this as private as possible. I had to make sure he wouldn't scream or gasp or flail; it would have to be done quickly and with no one around to suspect a thing.

Jacob was rather lanky and didn't look to have any real strength; subduing him would be an easy task, or so it looked. Leaving the scene would be a bit harder, I would just have to make sure I was not seen entering so I could make a decent escape. It would be best to do this in his carriage, we would be completely alone and I could cut off any ability he had to scream for his driver. As for the driver, I could take care that wheezing weakling easily.

I had to make sure no trail would lead back to me; it had to look as if he and his driver were fallen upon by bandits. He probably didn't tell anyone else he would be here tonight, though perhaps Jacob wasn't that much of an idiot. I didn't think to bring a knife with me, though I was sure he always carried a pistol. No, that would be too loud. There were table knives all around the theater; the trick would be to dispose of at once I was done. Then again someone could have seen me walk out with it.

Colin entered the dressing room and walked over to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder and leaning into my ear.

"Rich there's a man outside who said he's an old friend of yours," he said. "Said his name was Mr. Jacob and said he wants to give you his personal applause for a magnificent performance."

My bootlaces were sturdy enough for the job. I would have to remove them in private before going to meet him. I'm sure if I took the right angle around his throat it could crush his windpipe. Fortunately this rougher outfit included higher trousers and not culottes, I could slip the pant leg over the boots so no one noticed the lack of laces.

"Oh really," I said with a chuckle, eyes merrily widened. "What a pleasant surprise, I thought I saw some one who looked just like him in the audience. Where is he now?"

"He said he would be right outside the front door," Colin said. "I take it he's a legitimate friend of yours, not someone wantin' to cause trouble?"

There must have been a slight tenseness in my tone or perhaps a strong look on my face that gave away some of my true feelings. Colin seemed a bit concerned.

"Oh no, I assure you, we're old chums," I said. "Tell him I just need to clean up and I'll be around in about ten minutes."

The look on Colin's face said he wasn't entirely convinced I wasn't in some sort of trouble. He was aware I was hiding my theater time from my family. Perhaps this sent up a flag for him, but he seemed grudgingly willing to take my word for it.

"All right, I'll tell him," Colin said, nodding and walking away.

I scrubbed off the last of my make-up, though I decided to keep the black lining around my eyes. My hair was a bit unkempt after my time on stage, but I would be damned if I was brushing it let alone pulling it back. I wanted the last thing that twat saw was my stage face, for I wasn't bloody changing this. Nothing could pull me away from this life, nothing could pull me away from the closest friends I had ever had.

Though perhaps he wasn't here to pull me away or chastise me, perhaps he was actually going to give me some sincere applause. Perhaps he wasn't as opposed to this activity as I thought he was. Murder was always a messy affair. Fate smiled on me for the two lives I had taken; I couldn't guarantee what would happen for the third, especially for such a powerful man with whom I had such a public connection. It did occur to me this was my brother I was plotting to murder, perhaps I should feel guilty for this thought alone. No, the fact alone this was Jacob gave me all the more reason.

It was best to let him have his peace before taking any drastic measures. If he meant to pry me away, forbidding me to ever set foot near these people, and threatening to lock me away in his townhouse then I would make sure he suffered a slow death. What if he threatened to fire me, what if he told me continuing my course would lead to being bastardized from the family? It was an unnerving thought, but I couldn't deny the small sigh of relief; that alone told me volumes.

I rose from my seat, feeling like I was lead for a death march in front of my peers. I could see Colin talking to George about something, though keeping a peripheral eye on me. I walked from the dressing room into the side hallway, ducking into a small closet for a moment and pulling the cord from my right boot. I immediately wrapped it around my hand before shoving it into my pocket, pulling my pant legs from my boots and pulling them over the tops. I was ready for this.

The moment I heard something I didn't like, I would ask him for a more private conversation in the carriage, insist that I could not speak to him like this on the street. My fellows in the theater knew I was going out and Colin knew who I would meet. I doubted he would keep this information from any constable asking around about finding Jacob's body. Any acts of finality would have to wait for another day, though I was still prepared for anything.

The show ended about half an hour ago, meaning there were no lingering well-wishers. Everyone had cleared by now, meaning I was alone when I walked down the front steps to see the usual passing of people.

"Have a moment for an admirer?" that familiar voice called from the side.

I looked to see Jacob leaning against the wall; he looked so strange in those common clothes. He wore a simple black tricorn over his red hair. I saw him without his wig when he was in a state of morning preparation, evening rest, or in moments of immoral recreation, though not ever when he was out in public. It was as if he were out about town in his bedclothes.

I stared at him and slowly descended the stairs like an emperor about to pass judgment on some lowly maggot. He took a few steps toward me, I didn't say a word. Perhaps it was best not to be too cross with him, though I wasn't going to pretend I was pleased with this little development. His expression was actually a bit surprising; Jacob looked sincerely calm, humble almost. This had to be an act. I took that last step to the sidewalk and stood in front of him. We stared at each other for a moment in tense silence. It was as if we were in a glass ball with a few sounds from the street around us.

"When I say 'admirer' I mean that with the utmost sincerity," Jacob said. "You were truly magnificent up there, brother."

I stole a quick look around to see how many people I knew were around or to see if anyone else was listening in.

"Truly?" I said, though I could not control the tenseness in my voice. No, keeping anything from him was a bad idea. "That warms my heart."

Jacob gave a stiff smile. He had to have heard my tone and read every meaning into those few words.

"Truly," he said.

He stared at me for a moment, I didn't exactly wear a smile on my face.

"I can see you high on your haunches ready to leap on me the moment I open my mouth," he said. "You're ready to the defense for when I start huffing at you about how 'frivolous' this all is and how you're sullying the family name by consorting with this theatrical rabble. Naturally I cannot understand your passion for the arts, I never knew you and mother would go into London and see so many plays together, I had no idea you would put on little performances for the animals or the servants when you were a small child. I have never seen the number of Shakespeare's works on your shelf and how you go to the theater when you get a moment's chance. So naturally you've been keeping quiet about this little hobby; you just know that the moment I get any word of this is the moment I forbid you from having any more part of this. Despite the fact you have been an exemplary worker who has maintained your responsibilities to the letter, naturally I would disapprove of you doing something that keeps you engaged in your off hours and out of the pubs."

I couldn't be hearing this; was Jacob actually voicing his approval? Was my hard, greedy brother who ate, slept, and breathed business actually approving of me doing something of this nature? I had to pause for a moment and find my tongue.

"That all was essentially my thinking," I said.

He smiled, a small snicker came out of him.

"Well you were wrong," he said. "This will come as a bit of a shock to you, but you indeed have my blessings."

My mouth slowly dropped open, though I wasn't allowing myself the celebration yet. There had to be more to this.

"Why do you think there has been little word of any social engagements in the past couple weeks?" he said "I have merely been telling a few people you have been studying and have not wanted too many distractions, though you haven't exactly been missing much."

He was actually telling me he was purposefully not saying anything about any social engagements? This thrilled me on its head, though bothered me in the same breath. I fully understood the concept of societal reputation and was little fond of Jacob determining my reputation for me. On the other hand, what the bloody hell did I care about reputation? Even if he was trying to tear me down, he was still doing me a large favor. Though the "last couple weeks" statement truly begged a bigger question.

"How long have you known," I asked.

"Since the play opened. I got wind of it from Percy Merrick, you've met him a few times, he runs that furnishing company," Jacob said. "Well I had him over for a few cordials one night and he told me he had been to this small playhouse, it was the opening night of their big production and he was there to applaud the director. You probably are aware of this, but your director has garnered quite a bit of acclaim as an actor on Drury Lane. Percy knew him as 'Simon Pierce,' he found out he retired to run his own backstreet theater and decided to see what he was up to. He said the production's Mercutio was your spitting image, when he opened his mouth he was sure it was you. I decided to wait a couple weeks, see if I heard anything and I heard not a word. And all this time you have been maintaining your duties to the letter. I finally decided it was time to remove my own mask in this matter."

I didn't know what to say, I stood stone silent.

"And you never had any objections," I said.

"My only concern has been you maintaining your responsibilities and not keeping company with individuals of ill repute," Jacob said. "From what I've seen and from all I have heard about this company, you have not failed me."

He investigated the troupe. It was not a surprising development, such was only expected. At least he seemed happy with what he found, perhaps that was all that mattered. I couldn't ignore the gnawing itch that he was investigating my dealings behind my back. If he researched this, what else had he looked into?

"That certainly puts my mind at ease," I said. "I cannot tell you how happy I am doing this, how much this fulfills me."

"Every man needs a passion, though that passion still needs to come balanced with responsibilities. You have done amazingly well balancing this hobby with your work."

The term "hobby" grated on every nerve, though I had to take it for what it was worth.

"I see this play run lasts through January," he said. "Do you have any intention of taking part in others?"

"Without question," I said without any pause.

He nodded his head with a bright smile; I saw none of the usual signs of crossness or irritation. He actually seemed approving.

"You will be expected to make a reasonable amount of social appearances, especially if you are doing this when the season starts," Jacob continued. "Though perhaps lessening your engagements might keep you from being known as a rake. If a major appearance does present itself, I will expect you there. Naturally if you refuse a visit with the king or the Prince of Wales or anyone of the like I will have words about it."

"Naturally," I said with a small smile.

"If anyone else from our circles recognizes you on that stage and makes any inquiry, you are to be truthful."

"What about the baron?" I asked, keeping my voice low lest I be overheard and revealed to this group. "Would he be as approving of this 'hobby' as you are?"

"I am not saying a word to him at the present. That's a matter I will deal with the next time he decides to return to London. In the meantime your affairs are your own and he respects this."

As long as my affairs didn't include shady characters and as long as Jacob was keeping an eye on my every move. Would he really keep this from Matthew? He had little to gain by telling him, though I couldn't be too comfortable.

"Words cannot properly express my gratitude for all of this," I said.

"You probably think your brothers are these hard buggers who just want to see you chained to a desk, such is not the case, Gr-…Richard," he said. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit at this. "Contrary to popular belief, we do care about your total well-being; we want you to be happy with whatever pursuits you take on. Now run along back to your chaps. And clean yourself up, for God's sake you look like a Frenchman after a rough night."

I smiled and laughed a bit, hoping the "Frenchman" comment was a mere quip and not a backhanded reference. He laughed as well and turned away.

"I shall see you Monday morning," he said. "Good show."

"Thank you," I said.

He tossed me a wink and turned around, walking into the crowd and disappearing. I was letting him walk off with no immediate intentions of snuffing him, perhaps that was a good development in itself. I still couldn't believe what I just heard, though none of it was settling with me at all.

I was happy to return to the theater with no blood on my hands and no scramble after hiding a body. I did clean off the rest of my make-up and brushed my hair out, yet I wasn't in the mood to pull it back. Colin approached me, asking if all was well. It was, I replied with no shortage of smiles. He was satisfied and gave me a pat on the shoulder.

I joined the rest at the pub later, enjoying an extra pint and savoring every laugh with my mates; perhaps savoring everything I could have been denied. No, this is how it would be regardless. No one could ever pull me away from this, no one. I returned home with an extra bounce in my saddle, though something continued to eat at me. Something just didn't feel right about that whole encounter. Perhaps it was the tension of seeing Jacob, or perhaps I knew this matter wasn't as clean as it was presented. This was too easy and too jovial, something else was going on.

I returned home and changed a few worn strings on my violin, my mind sorting out the whole encounter. I should have been happy with this, I should have left the matter as it was. Perhaps Jacob was right, I was so used to thinking of my brothers as these hulking ogres; perhaps they actually were much cheerier than I imagined. Or perhaps I held onto every suspicion because I would be an idiot to let this all pass.

How did Jacob learn of my "hobby?" Apparently Percy Merrick told him. I was familiar with Percy, he was always talking about his gem collection and enjoyed making jokes about his filthy workers. Percy was an enthusiast of the theater, I had been to a few productions with him, his child bride, and every whore he could offer to me to escort. He was rather fond of going to all the grandest productions, bragging about how many famous actors he supped with, and how he didn't need tickets to anything; everyone just knew him. If Colin had any clout on Drury Lane, I can imagine Percy crawling under his coattails. But would he follow an aging actor to his tiny theater on a backstreet off Leicester Square? I saw Percy using a host of unfriendly words for Colin for his new pursuit, Hell would freeze over before he would soil his shoes in such a low-class area.

This story sounded rather convenient and none of it was believable. It seemed a little ironic that just two months after I opened my mouth about Comte de Marteille, some random member of our circle just happened to attend a theater he normally would never be caught dead in and just happened to recognize me onstage. The thought froze my fingers on the strings. I couldn't afford to believe in coincidences for a reason. Apparently Jacob was keeping a few engagements from me as a friendly favor. What about the occasion with the Duke of Kent? In fact that was my only major appearance in recent memory; Jacob did emphasize I would be attending engagements involving royalty and anyone else up the rung, no questions asked.

He knew about this longer than a few weeks. How did he find out? Perhaps I really didn't want to know that question. Could he have gotten to Colin? Colin was awful worried about me tonight, anything was possible. Perhaps he put some extra coin in the pocket of anyone from an actor to a next door shopkeeper. The point was he was having me watched.

That was the whole point of this little meeting wasn't it? You cannot do anything behind my back; I will find out everything. That's why he made himself so obvious at the end of the performance. The polite thing would be to wait until I left the building and pull my arm. No, he had to make a show of it; he had to stick it right in my face during one of the greatest moments of my life. This was all so obvious.

I couldn't let this bother me. Jacob found out all he needed and presented it before me. The matter was done. Even if any of my fellows were paid to keep an eye on my activities, I was doing nothing that needed hiding. I couldn't afford to trust anyone, yet I couldn't allow myself to live in a constant state of paranoia; I couldn't let this ruin my well-earned happiness.

Jacob voiced his seemingly unquestioning approval, I should be celebrating right now. This was a massive load off my shoulders; there was no need to hide anything or lie about what I was doing in my free time. Jacob knew everything and told me as much. I could continue my acting without fear and freely discuss my passion. In the end I decided…no, vowed this whole encounter was ultimately to my benefit.

I would return to the theater the next night feeling that much more relief, though I couldn't help the little voice in the back of my mind that told me to keep on my guard. Whatever apprehension I had faded away when the curtain rose and it was time to begin another wonderful night. I left at the end of the evening even more confident in the security of my happiness.

I knew Jacob would say something about the play when I went into the carriage on Monday morning and was right. He asked how Sunday's performance had gone, I told him about another packed house despite the fact Sunday's can be a little less busy. He listened with seeming interest, asking me simple questions such as how many people usually attend, what nights are the busiest, what we do to prepare. These all sounded like questions asked with legitimate curiosity, it felt unusual to talk so openly about my acting though it was liberating in a way.

Jacob made no mentions of it at the office; it seemed as though he wanted to keep quiet on the subject in front of our coworkers, which I immensely appreciated. The tactic worked for no mentions were made of my little "hobby," unless Jacob instructed them all to keep their mouths shut.

I was perfectly relaxed when we boarded the carriage at the end of the day, chatting about mundane topics. Shortly after getting on the road, Jacob went quiet for a moment. The moment he opened his mouth back up I recognized that "serious business" tone even before I heard any words. I immediately knew whatever he had to say was unlikely to be pleasant.

"When I made mention of how I had been telling people you could not attend social events because you were studying, it reminded me of a rather important matter," he said. "In fact Matthew said something of the like in his last correspondence that I admittedly forgot."

I kept outwardly calm and hoped my mental shiver had not manifested itself physically.

"It is time to start considering what university you wish to attend," he said. "The acceptance process for next year will commence in the early part of the new year. Granted you have some time, though it's time to start considering some options."

I was mildly relieved this was such a mundane topic. Part of my being in London hinged on attending university at the end of the year. With all the new experiences and all the things going on, I nigh on forgot about this.

"I would also like you to start meeting with a tutor on a regular basis," Jacob said. "Nothing too intensive and something you can still manage with the obligations and activities you have going on now. It will merely be a way for you to brush up on your rudimentary academics. Granted you have likely learned more in this experience than King's Crest could ever teach you, though you will still need the usual reading, writing, arithmetic part. Plus it will also show you have kept up your studies out of the school environment."

"I understand completely," I said.

I immediately wondered what type of tutor Matthew would hire for me. Would it would be some lazy retired teacher who would meet with me for five minutes and go back to his drinking or some hardened reformer whose previous pupils were prisoners. I was willing to give Jacob some benefit of the doubt that he would get someone who stuck with the basics and didn't pry into my existence too much. Then again Jacob was leagues away from earning any benefit of the doubt from me.

"As I said, none of this would begin immediately though it is never too late to prepare yourself," Jacob said.

I had little to argue about there, though the timing still felt premature. It had been four months since the original deal was made for me to stay in London, I had in fact been here for half a year. It didn't feel like half a year, now it was time to start my plans for the future. I would be leaving London in just eight months; the thought hit me with a bit of melancholy. It still seemed like a ways away, yet time tended to race. I would be leaving London in the next eight months; I would be leaving my theater friends in the next eight months. That thought alone put a weight on my heart.

A part of me wanted to be angry at Jacob for mentioning this now, right after we spoke so much in length about my time with the theater. Was this a way to ruin my happiness? The thought was more than a bit silly. I remembered being a child and yelling at Matthew and mother for telling me I would be attending boarding school. I was 17 now and more a man of the world, I needed to further my education.

I needed to attend university and spend hours studying engineering and mathematics and design. I needed to prepare myself for spending the rest of my life designing plows and planters and slaughter mechanisms. Naturally I would need a casual past time to keep myself from becoming too overwrought, something like a little acting on the side. I would have to make it a priority to attend lavish parties and stately gatherings over cordials, properly rubbing elbows with royalty and the elite. I was a man of the nobility after all, this was what my life should be like.

I bade a polite farewell to Jacob and returned home. I did a bit of sketching, I drew our manor from memory. I always prided myself on my ability to draw straight lines, even when I was filling my wine glass nonstop. Perhaps that would be an advantage to me when I spent the rest of my life making plans and prints. I always watched every detail around me, like the flicker of the flame in a fireplace; the different shades of red, yellow, and orange, how to translate them to the different grays in my charcoal.

These were simple observations that made the flames seem so real when they were shooting high through the roof. I had seen a small shed burning in one part of town a while ago, that gave me the image of a roof ablaze; all the timbers poking out and consumed in charred black like my charcoal itself. I was proud of how I drew the smashed windows and the glow from within, imagining how many precious pieces of furniture and tacky art pieces were consumed inside. Matthew would naturally be a charred husk by now, or perhaps all the fat would melt like a candle. Jacob would live a little while longer to feel the flames consuming him. Elijah would get away with a few charred patches of skin, he didn't deserve any more than that. How I wanted to draw a beautiful sunrise or a handsome rose with a piece of charcoal from the burnt remains of my manor.

I pulled the drawing back, rather proud of my handiwork, though the drawing was a bit too mundane. Something was missing; color was missing. I needed to buy a decent set of pastels, though I had never really done any serious drawing that warranted such a purchase. I needed to remedy that; from my hazy perspective this piece was lacking much. Even after consuming most of a bottle of claret, I still had a fine-tuned eye for these things.

I did have an option, one that would add color not to mention put so much more of myself into such a personal piece. I slid the side of my finger against the thick paper, the stinging itch conjured a happy moan from me and I saw the first thick drop of red seeping from the cut. I applied it to the paper gently, putting small streaks to accentuate the flames. I added a bit more, apparently I was better at painting that I thought I was and I wasn't even using a brush. By the time the wound closed, all the flames consuming my family's home were a deep, angry red.

I recall waking up at the sun's first light, body still prone on the couch, my head aching and my stomach contents ready to mutiny. I was a little perturbed at the art piece I made the night before, God forbid someone should see this. My family would have me locked away somewhere for creating this, not only for the subject but the materials used. I was ready to toss it into the fire, though I decided to look on it a bit longer. No, why destroy something this beautiful. I placed it in a folder and put it in my drawer.

Why censor my creativity? I should be proud of everything executed by my hand.


	22. Part 22

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 22**

As much as I begged and pleaded with the masters of fate for this not to happen, I kept it in the back of my mind that it probably would. I should have readied myself for this every time I was alone with Jacob, though a few quiet weeks made me complacent.

"Grell, we received an invitation to Earl Arlington's Christmas party; the earl himself told me the Duke of Cumberland and Strathearn was planning to attend," Jacob said in the carriage on the way to work one morning.

As in Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland and Strathearn; the king's brother. I knew immediately where this was going and hid my awaiting shudder.

"The party is on Saturday night. This is a very important appearance; you will need to inform Mr. Avery you will be unable to do the performance that night."

My logical mind reminded me over and over that this wasn't a surprise. Unfortunately it was drowned out by the screaming and cursing in the other side of my brain.

"It will be an easy arrangement, there are several understudies," I said.

I just rattled off a quick statement of understanding so I could go back to my mental tantrum and stew quietly all day. By the time I returned home, I had somewhat cooled off though was no less thrilled about the prospect of speaking to Colin on Wednesday. I wasn't concerned he would be cross; I knew he would understand my circumstances. Perhaps it was just the prospect of admitting defeat.

I approached Colin at the next rehearsal, face hot with embarrassment once again though a bit more intense this time. This wasn't a rehearsal I would be missing; this was a whole performance. That was one less moment for me to shine in front of my audience because some gallivanting prince was allegedly going allow a group of noble peons an audience with him. It wasn't as if His Majesty himself was going to be there, why the bloody hell should I lose my evening for his much younger brother? Perhaps that was the opinion others had of meeting me, though I couldn't have given a sauntering fuck.

I found Colin upon entering the building and told him I had an evening of surprise inventory lists to deal with; I'm terribly sorry, but I am not going to be able to take part in Saturday night's show. There is no way I can get out of this.

"That's all right, Rich, these things happen, in fact we expect this time of year they might be happening a lot," Colin said.

He called over Elias, one of the backstage boys; he was handsome, a bit on the plump side though passable. He played Mercutio before and just needed a quick brush up on some of the lines. All was set, I should just go forward with work and not worry about a thing. Colin had a knack for reassurance, I even felt a little calmer afterwards though I was no happier.

Saturday nights I left home wearing rougher clothes, looking forward to donning my costume later and putting on my make-up. This particular Saturday, however, I grudgingly wore the costume of a respectable nobleman going to rub elbows and nuzzle the backsides of those of bluer blood than I. This didn't have to be all that bad, I told myself. Prince Henry was known as a bit of a man about town himself; maybe he would be an interesting chap to spend a second with.

I was still looking at my watch entering the lavish townhouse decorated in the most holly and bows money could afford. It was 6 o'clock, I could be wrapping up a quick rehearsal whilst listening to people file in. Instead I was shaking one hand after another and politely bowing whilst waiting for the special guest to arrive. A few cordials relaxed me a bit; I was so on edge right now I could have a few more drinks and still keep decorum.

This party had all the cheer of a stiff pair of shoes. Everyone had on their smiling masks underneath all the ruffles and curls. It was now 7 and the reason for my coming to this nonsense had not shown.

At last the host of the party — a small man with this long, poofy wig that made him look like some sort of poppet of nobleman — stepped in front and tapped his glass. All eyes fell on his ridiculousness. Was that velvet coat he was wearing really that bright green? Christ Almighty, could one get any tackier?

"Attention everyone," he said to the masses. "I have just received word from the private secretary of His Highness the Duke of Cumberland and Strathearn. Unfortunately…"

Oh fucking hell! I clutched the stem of my glass and strained every muscle to keep from reacting. I knew with that one word was coming next.

"…His Highness' ship returning from Bruges was delayed due to the weather and he will likely not be returning to London until the morning."

A few polite "Aww's" went around the room, though most people toasted to the Duke's safe journey. I wanted to toast my glass over Jacob's head. I gave up my bloody play tonight to see some wanker who never even showed to the party. I kept my mask on and had a few more drinks. I wanted to get totally rat-arsed if only to piss off Jacob; it was his fucking fault for leading me here. If I did though I'd only be hearing about it for eternity, besides did he know the Duke's ship was getting held up by weather? I could imagine some lowly page boy running into said private secretary's office with the letter after hopping from whatever port His High-arse was spending the night entertaining himself with expensive booze and equally expensive muff.

It was only then when I reminded myself of a more daunting reason to stay on my best behavior tonight, one I had known about for a few weeks though did not really think on it until now. Jacob and I would be returning to the manor for Christmas. If I made a fool of myself now, not only would I have to deal with Jacob in a week or so but I would have to deal with Matthew and everyone else who received the word. I took it easy on the drinks and kept my charming demeanor.

"Grell I am so very sorry with what passed tonight," Jacob said in the carriage on the way home. "Such is the hazard of the social scene, one never knows when that regal guest gets caught up by forces beyond control."

This wasn't helping me at all.

Nevertheless I was back at the theater on Sunday getting into my true attire. Everyone said Elias did a decent job, though people were apparently asking where I was. That perked up my spirits a bit more. I went onstage and savored every moment of adoration; I had missed the stage for only one performance yet it was one performance too many.

Colin cleared all performances and rehearsals for the week of Christmas. Christmas fell on a Wednesday this year and he paid heed to Boxing Day as well. He wanted the company to enjoy all time they could get with their families amid their holiday work schedules, though anyone who would be alone on Christmas was welcome to meet at the theater for some food and conversation.

If only I could stay around with much more pleasant company here than what awaited me in Essex. After a few days however, especially a few more days at the office, I was actually becoming intrigued with the prospect of returning. It had been six months since I left for London. Six months later I had a steady job, my own money, and my own apartment. I was no longer the child of the house, perhaps I was in fact one of the men now. Jacob talked to me a bit more like an adult, I didn't see any reason why Matthew wouldn't as well. I was a working man who would be surrounded by children, perhaps the title of "uncle" would hold a bit more weight now. Plus I did hold an executive title at our family's company, I doubted I would return to the manor and be regulated to the nursery. Matthew and Jacob were already preening me last year, this year I was in more of a respectable form.

I had left in June a little lamb awaiting my slaughter, perhaps I would return in December a wolf joining the rest of the pack. That didn't mean I was anything more than the omega wolf who still had to look out for his packmates, though I wouldn't ever return to the position of sheep. Perhaps this little trip could be a validating one.

Friday was the last workday before our departure. Jacob said we would be leaving for the manor on Monday, the office would be in the hands of the other managers for the holidays. I had a hard time imagining anyone willingly working on Christmas, though I was of a high enough standing to avoid this apparently. This should have made me feel special or entitled, though I was more bemused if anything.

Sunday night was the last performance before the Christmas pause. We all put holly wreathes on our heads for the final bow and wish a Merry Christmas to everyone. Many of the players said they had to work on Christmas, though a few spoke of their kind employers who actually gave them Christmas Day off. I also said I was working the whole holiday, it wasn't necessarily a lie; seeing my family wasn't exactly a fun occasion and I anticipated we would all be discussing work more than anything.

I took off my costume with a bit of a heavy heart. I wouldn't have this experience again for another week, not only that but I had to deal with my family for the next few days. I tried to remind myself that this whole week would make me all the more eager to return here. We would all come back in triumph and say hello to our admirers once again. Not only that but Colin said something backstage that night about the play for next season. He would have an announcement sometime in the new year what production we would be putting on next.

"I know Auntie will be joining us again, and Rich and Ephraim I assume you will be reading for us again too," Colin said.

We both nodded our heads with great enthusiasm. It felt like being invited all over again; true validation that this really was my home.

I returned to my apartment that night and finished packing for our journey, placing articles of clothing for the next four days in my trunk between sips of claret. We would leave London in the late morning and arrive at the manor sometime in the early evening. Then we would spend Christmas Eve and Christmas with the family. Jacob said he had wanted to leave for London on Boxing Day, but Lady Sutcliff apparently pleaded with her husband to have us stay at least until Friday. It would make for a full holiday week for us. Maybe by Monday I would be kissing my desk in happiness to be back. I downed a glass just considering this.

It was nice to have a few extra hours of sleep on a Monday morning, though it was a loan I would have to repay with a day in a carriage. Normally we would travel a short ways to the office, this time I actually had to be in Jacob's presence for much longer than I normally was. The carriage came as usual, though this time Simon was loading my bags on top with Jacob's effects. I went inside the carriage and exchanged a few of the usual pleasantries with Jacob, who was simply reading the newspaper.

The journey itself ended up not being all that bad. There was quite a bit of idle chit-chat between us, which actually relaxed me a bit. A part of me almost sarcastically expected some type of new news being dropped on me during this journey but there was none. The biggest piece of news I heard was that Earl Phantomhive was hosting a party at his manor on New Years and extended us an invitation. I was a bit intrigued at this announcement; if a normal party at his townhouse was so amusing, what would a full out New Year's bash be like at his manor? There was a good possibility that bizarre Arthur fellow would be there, but by now he was no longer a bother for me. I somewhat wanted to see him again, prove to myself that he was nothing more than a weasel of a man. If I was proven wrong it would be to my amusement.

We both mostly read and kept to ourselves the rest of the journey. It was around 7 when we arrived on familiar roads, the glow of the manse coming into view through the darkness. I put down my book and straightened myself in my seat; neatening up my cravat and smoothing out my coat and my ponytail. I saw Jacob give me a little extra glance with a small smile, I wouldn't be surprised if he had some idea what was going through my head.

At last the carriage pulled up in front of the manor. I saw David emerge from the house and take his standard stance awaiting us. Simon opened the door and Jacob stepped out first. I then descended, walking from that carriage with my head a bit higher than I usually did at these arrivals. David greeted us both as usual and escorted us inside. How odd it was to be back in this house. Now I felt like a visitor when I had previously been pent up in here like a calf. Now I was one of the men of the family returning to the manor, it indeed felt rather good.

All the family was here, we were the last two being awaited. Matthew's boys returned home from school during the week and Elijah and family arrived just this morning. Soon Matthew emerged from the dining room and gave us both warm welcomes. He gave me the same merry smile and firm handshake he gave Jacob. I was waiting for the moment when he would talk to me like a young boy pretending to be a man. Instead he kept his straight tone and patted me on the shoulder, remarking on how pleased he was to see me and how smart I looked. He sounded genuinely impressed, I was waiting for condescension but was really hearing none.

"You both arrived just in time for dinner," Matthew said. "Come into the dining room, we have been waiting for you all."

Matthew went in front and opened the doors. Jacob and I entered and were immediately rushed by familiar faces. Elijah was front and center followed by his cheery wife with their four young children soon rushing up to embrace us. Lady Sutcliff, Charlotte I suddenly remembered, gave us her polite greetings. Robby went up to me and gave me a firm handshake, which I returned with his pleasant bow. His older brother Timothy gave us his own proper handshakes, though the eldest boy Isaac greeted us with only a bow and a couple words before returning to his seat at the table.

Matthew saved seats for the both of us near the front of the table, which was notable for me at the time. I found I was actually happy at the moment. Normally I greeted these reunions from the bottom of the doldrums, now I was actually going about this exercise in a much more agreeable mood. Perhaps absence does make the heart grow fonder, or maybe a little less annoyed. I dare say this actually gave me some optimism for how the rest of our time here would go, though I was content to play this by ear.

The round of chatting started almost immediately. Robby was asking me all about London, I gave him a few details of my small life there; it felt good to have the floor and a wide-eyed audience of children. I was rather intrigued by how social Robert had become. Just a year ago he was an overly proper little boy, now he was a bit more of a social young man. It was a nice change, perhaps he would give me no more reasons to destroy his playthings.

All of Matthew's boys were at the age where they were becoming men with their own personalities. Timothy talked about how Uncle Elijah took him along during his ministering to families in a poorhouse. He was right fascinated with how bad the conditions were and how good he felt to spread the Word to provide some comfort. Good for him that he found such a noble cause, even amid such ghastly conditions that were a novelty to him. Elijah and Matthew were apparently still negotiating whether young Tim would be able to join his uncle on a trip to Canterbury. I entertained him with a few tales form our own brief stop there on the way back from Paris.

I guessed Timothy wanted to join the clergy himself, though naturally that depended on Isaac's securing of his father's title. If Isaac were to snuff it young or do something to gloriously disgrace the family, it wouldn't be proper for the spare to hole himself in the vestment closet. Isaac in fact was the only child doing the least amount of talking. The stick up the arse was probably hereditary.

I enjoyed the twittering of Elijah's brood for a few minutes until it overstayed its welcome. Then I merely tolerated hearing them talk about new clothes and the bird that flew into their house one night. Apparently Elijah's 18-year-old stepdaughter Rebecca, the daughter of his wife Maryanne, recently birthed her own son. In his ripe thirty-second year, Elijah was now a grandfather in a respect and he was surely beaming about it. I did wonder how old Maryanne was; she didn't look too much older than her husband. The thought of how old she could have been when squeezing out her puppy made my toes curl a bit.

"That's right, Grell, you are only a year younger than Rebecca," Elijah said. "Is there a lucky girl in London you will be planting a little life with?"

Alas, Elijah, I have not yet found the ideal child bride. I guess I had better get on that; 17 is getting on in years apparently. Perhaps I should be perusing some orphanages for the perfect wife. I wanted to say this so badly.

"Yes, her name is Sutcliff Agriculture and she is rather far along," Jacob quipped, "Alas I will admit Grell and I are both her husbands."

This prompted a round of chuckles around the table, including from me. I was actually thankful to Jacob for taking the heat off me.

"We must be her harem," Matthew said chortling.

Amidst the droll response, I glanced at Isaac, whose gaze was locked on his dinner plate. I swore I saw a bit of an annoyed expression; he was cross about something though I didn't really care about what. Last I heard he was 15 now, being 15 in and of itself is cause for some sour decorum. Maybe he was also angry to not be a father by now. I knew I shouldn't have let that comment bother me as much as it did.

Idle conversation was the run of the evening. We later congregated in the drawing room for some mulled wine. Maryanne goaded me into taking to the piano with many others cheering me on behind her. I was more than willing to take the stool and play a few carols accompanied by merry voices singing along.

The young ones retired around 9 and most everyone else was in bed by 10 save for Matthew, Jacob, and myself. We bantered a little about business, though at one point Matthew actively discouraged any such talk.

"I'd prefer enjoying each other's company this holiday rather than spending the whole time going on about the shop," he said.

Idle conversation still felt a bit stiff with him, though the fact I was actually being welcomed into Matthew and Jacob's banter about the weather and what new wallpaper would go good in the master bedroom was a bit of an honor. Matthew whined a little about how pious his wife was being. Christmas was going to be a quieter, family affair this year.

"She's adamant; no other guests, only family, and no one had better act foolishly," he said rolling his eyes. "'I will not have another tragedy in this house after what happened to poor Mr. Benton last year.'"

I simply sipped my wine. Oh damn, did I ruin Christmas for everyone?

"Bloody hell, how many years did we have the Christmas parties in London?" Jacob said with a huff. "No one got anything more than a nasty hangover. Danny Benton was a drunk anyway and all of us know how he ate; we should make sure to only invite those in better health next time. Your woman is just looking for an excuse to keep all of us from having any fun."

"Believe me, Jacob, I tried telling her that but she wouldn't budge," Matthew said, pouring himself another glass.

"And who is the lord of this manor?" Jacob said.

The glare Matthew gave him was pure gold. He wasn't merely annoyed with him, this was a lot more venomous. I was certainly intrigued, perhaps there would be an interesting show in this.

"She said it was ultimately for the sake of the children, and I did agree with that point," Matthew said.

Jacob nodded but I could tell he was biting his tongue hard.

"But she does have a point; we have been doing little as a family in this past year," Matthew said. "The boys have been at school, Elijah's family has been mostly accessible through letters, then of course you Grell have started your fine career."

I raised my glass to this.

"This has been a tumultuous year," I said. "Perhaps it is best to enjoy the holiday in the quiet company of family. I have indeed missed seeing everyone, this is a good time to reconnect."

Both Jacob and Matthew drank to this with their own smiles in my direction. I supposed Matthew was impressed with such mature words coming from such a little ruffian. Jacob was likely pleased with my ability to keep the peace; not to mention all our temperance this Christmas would be more than made up for during New Year's at the Phantomhive manor.

We retired around midnight, Matthew said he wanted to have a private breakfast with us both to go over some business matters; get those out of the way so we could enjoy the rest of our holiday. He also said my room was freshly prepared and all set and ready for my return. I said my goodnights and went back to the room I had left six months ago. It felt bizarre entering it again. Most of my effects had been cleared out save for a few things I had not needed in London. I felt like a refugee returning to his ransacked home after years in safe territory.

My last few months here saw me recovering from the nasty beating I took from my traitorous mates, it saw me still healing from Reg, and I would spend time in here contemplating my upcoming time in London. It was a bit unsettling to see this white wallpaper with these silver flowers and these red bed curtains again. The only thing that had really changed about this room in seventeen years was size of the furniture and the nature of the toys. This was an adult's bed, though I still felt like a child climbing into it again.

I met with Matthew and Jacob the next morning as planned. Matthew said he wanted separate breakfasts throughout the house in anticipation of tomorrow's grand feasting. That and the executives needed some time to work out a few things.

"I will advise caution, Isaac might either scowl at you both or ask you incessant questions about the business while you're here," Matthew said. "Especially you, Grell."

"I recall you saying you would wanted him to focus on his studies," I said.

"You recall correctly and I have told this to him numerous times," Matthew said after shoveling a spoonful of egg into his mouth. "Yet he has been bringing up the subject nigh incessantly. His tone became a bit heated the other day, unfortunately he was bringing you up quite a bit. 'But Grell is 17 and not in university yet, why shouldn't I get a position? I am the heir after all, I will be managing this company someday.'"

"Because 15 is still a boy in my humble opinion," Jacob said, sipping his cider. "I will not have our company in the hands of a child. No offense brother, but your son is not all that mature for his age."

No wonder why I was still being shoved away up until last summer; apparently 16 makes for ripe pickings.

"None taken, Isaac has been acting like a child and not as a young man should," Matthew said.

Matthew had raised his boys to be young men from the moment they were out of the womb; now he was so offended that one of them actually wanted to take part in his adult business. Apparently maturity means staying in one's iron nursery and immaturity was wanting anything more.

Or perhaps he would rather they sat in their own cushioned chairs their whole lives growing as fat as their father, in fact Isaac was a good ways there already. The hard work would be left for the family castoffs and the "talented partners." This was an intriguing line of thought that only grew. I tried to stifle it for a moment lest I aggravate my temper, though perhaps it was best to think this through if only to laugh at it later.

What were the odds Matthew was taking most of the credit at parties gatherings of businessmen and everyone else was doing the work for him? What were the odds he would rather none of his children filthied their hands with any sort of labor (no matter how safe and dour) and would rather pass his title to the eldest along with all the credit for everyone else's successes. Perhaps the castoff youngest child was perfect for such labors, though what if he felt the same about Jacob: the second-born and fourth in line?

If I was able to see this, I was sure Jacob knew this full well. However I had never heard him say one disparaging word about the baron, though that could have been out of respect as well. Perhaps this was a matter of which I should be especially wary. There was something a little more in Matthew's glare last night for Jacob's "lord of the manor" comment, it would behoove me to take this into consideration.

"Perhaps it is a matter of he wants to feel useful," I said stirring my tea. "He sees all the men around him doing important things knowing he is destined to inherit great things himself. It was not that long ago that I was his age, one feels like an adult then even if one is still a boy."

"Such may be the case, however he is at the age when young men are better suited learning more the ways of the world as opposed to diving in ignorant," Matthew said. "He is better off filling his mind with knowledge so it makes him better prepared to wrap that educated mind around the important matters of business."

It was a marvelous speech, one I was sure had been recited to Isaac on numerous occasions. I could only imagine the boy finding more agitation than any comfort in these words.

"And with that I agree, though young men are so easily vexed and more reactive than considerate," I said. "I firmly agree with your reasoning, though I bear some measure of sympathy for the lad. Alas he will learn this is better for him in the longer term."

"Indeed, I am sure you appreciate the education you received before being put into such a difficult business situation," Matthew said. "No matter how headstrong you were at 15, do you regret waiting two years before being given such an opportunity? Or would you rather have been thrown of the financial wolves with rudimentary education and no knowledge of the world?"

I wasn't quite appreciating his accusatory tone. It was a tone elders seemed to enjoy using on smart-mouthed children who needed a strict lesson on the ways of the world. I wanted to smack him upside the head, "I'm actually agreeing with you, you plunker; ease up on the lesson." Naturally I held my tongue to these words and replaced them with something more suitable.

"Oh I most certainly do, in fact I am eternally grateful," I said. "It is a gratefulness that is often learned after hard experience."

"Experience is what truly separates men from boys, dearest brother," Jacob piped in, though I didn't know if that quip was directed at me or Matthew. "Alas young Isaac lacks such experience at the moment, though I do think shutting him out entirely is an unwise move. I would be willing to throw him a couple bones, allow him in on a few discussions if only to see the difficulty of what we do."

"I shall ponder that offer, though at the time being I would rather he kept his current course," Matthew said, ever the stubborn bastard as always. "Regardless the executives from the London office here. How does the end of the year look?"

And just like that he changed the subject. Jacob and I both let the whole thing be and updated Matthew on the run of the office. Actually Jacob did most of the talking, though he allowed me to chime in on a few small details. Let the child have a few strokes on this painting to say he contributed.

I was supposed to be a man of the house, instead I was once again the small boy in the smart uniform for everyone to talk to as if he were big. Though apparently I was in my prime for marrying and spreading my seed to actually cultivate life. Oh how I loved this family.

I had my gentleman mask on for the rest of breakfast and mentally applauded when it was finally over. I was in the process of leaving when I heard Jacob and Matthew make under-the-breath arrangements to meet at teatime today. This unsettled me a bit more for whatever reason, perhaps it was because the adults could go back to their talking. Or maybe they had specific subjects to talk about; only normal among the true executives of a company. I couldn't help the small pricking at the back of my brain that told me they could be discussing me. This was only natural too no matter how much is irked me.

I was happy to go along my merry way for the rest of the day, though I kept an eye on the clock. I was curious as to what those two would be discussing, perhaps a little walk past the door of Matthew's study at the right time might put my mind at ease a bit. I stayed in my room mostly, after the quality family time I had endured to this point, I was uninterested in having any more for a long while.

After a few hours the walls closed in a bit and I was rather thirsty. I was about to ring for David, but decided now was a good time to wander about. I did catch up with David in the hallway and asked for a bottle of wine to be brought to my room. He gave his standard "Right away, sir," before going off. Just then Maryanne and four little ones were walking down the hallway and saw me before I could sneak off. My niece Sarah ran up to me and started tugging on my sleeve, which both amused and annoyed the hell out of me.

"Uncle Grell! Uncle Grell!" she said jumping up and down and yanking my arm. "Come make some gingerbread with us, uncle, it will be loads of fun!"

The other kids cheered the same behind her. Oh God what the hell did I just walk into?

"We're going to do to the dining room and cut out some gingerbread for Christmas," Maryanne said with a little giggle. "Archie's making the dough now and we'll roll it out and cut out stars and angels. Would you like to join us?"

My mind initially formed words of polite refusal, besides I was in my nicer clothes at the moment and did not care to get anything stained. Though what else did I have to do today besides sit in my room and get drunk? At least I would be around some members of my family who counted me as an adult. Children annoyed me to no end, though perhaps I needed some merry laughter that was lacking from my existence. It was the Christmas season after all.

I did take a glance at the clock in the hallway, 2:45: Jacob and Matthew were meeting for 4 o'clock tea. I assumed this little afternoon with gingerbread would end around 4 as well so the children could take their own tea. I would just have to go back to my room then and change clothes after taking part in such a messy activity.

"I would be delighted," I said, patting Sarah on the head and trying to smile for the little cheers I got in response.

I actually found myself enjoying the activity more than I thought I would. I did remove my coat and aided the process in my rolled-up shirtsleeves. Archie the cook came out with a large bowl of gingerbread dough, Maryanne rolled it out on the table covered in a plain white cloth, and the children took their clay molds and stamped out little Christmas shapes. I stamped a few out too and helped roll some of the dough scraps into a ball and flatten them out for more stamping.

I actually enjoyed their laughter, how they stretched out the shapes, how they snuck little gobs of dough into their smiling mouths. It was fun getting my hands dirty with such a mundane substance. Gingerbread was so pure, so innocent; such a polar opposite of blood. I was happier getting my hands sticky with this substance; it was sweeter, it smelled nicer, it conjured images of fun and calm as opposed to dread and panic.

Elijah eventually joined us, I had no bloody clue as to what he had been up to but he did walk into the kitchen with similar pleas from his children to join the fun. He did so with a merry laugh, digging right in and stamping out some angels.

"This is a bit of a tradition for us, Grell," Elijah said. "We usually do this the week before Christmas, though Lady Charlotte gave us leave to do it here. I don't know if you remember, Grell, but mother told us she used to make gingerbread as a child."

My heart sunk a little at the mention. This was probably the first time mother had been discussed in a long time.

"Alas I don't recall," I said.

"Actually I believe it was two Christmases ago, I think you were spending the holidays at school," Elijah said. "The children were very little then. She put out a plate of gingerbread and told them she would stamp out little shapes like this when she was a child in Germany. Her family's servants would help her and her brother through the process."

Two Christmases ago; the last Christmas mother would ever see. And I was so happy to be spending my holiday at King's Crest with friends who would never speak to me again. I recall raving about the holiday in a letter to Oskar; the last letter I would ever send him. I never did get a response back; the distance between England and America was rather wide, not to mention he was a bit busy with that whole revolution nonsense. I wonder if he ever wrote a response back, though such a response was probably blown up with the rest of him.

"We make these for Gran now," Elijah's eldest boy Paul said. "Something to remember her by."

"This is such a lovely tribute," I said, leaning down into little Paul's face. "I am sure mother is looking down from Heaven and watching us in happiness."

I wasn't so sure that my vain mother would ever dirty her dainty hands so. Perhaps things were much different when she was a child, or she could have told such a lovely story to try to make some conversation with the brats. Maybe Matthew and Jacob's boastfulness was an inherited trait.

Elijah said he told David to serve us a late tea so we could finish our project. That was fine timing for me, it meant Matthew and Jacob would be nicely settled in when I passed their door. At last all the dough was put to a purpose and the biscuits were now in the oven. The clock read 4:15 and Elijah said he would fetch David for the tea service while Maryanne took the children to get changed. I excused myself for the same purpose, reassuring my niece and nephews that I would return and join them for tea.

I purposely spaced out my steps and wandered through a few other corridors toward my destination. I wanted to be out of sight for everyone and alone in the hallway when I reached Matthew's study. Thankfully my destination was clear of any interference. No one was milling around in the hallway at the time, though I gave myself a thirty second count before approaching the door. I positioned myself at the crack in the door, though listened first for any suddenly loud voices or shuffling lest I be caught by surprise. At first I was a little worried that their conversation would be so soft I wouldn't pick up on anything. I was proven wrong the moment I got right to the door; I could hear Matthew speaking in a raised voice, his words rather clear.

"No I am not in London," was the first clear sentence I heard. "I am here managing the core of our household or in Boreham managing our company. You, however, are in London and it is your responsibility to keep a handle on what's going on there."

Oh he sounded pissed. This was entertaining already.

"In all due respect, brother, how much time do you spend in the one as opposed to the other?" Jacob said, his tone a little more even though still loud enough to hear clearly.

"You're not getting started on this again," Matthew said.

"And every time I do I do so with valid reason," Jacob said, his own tone rising a bit. "Perhaps you're the one I should be keeping a better eye on."

"I am not even going to dignify that with an answer, Jacob and you know exactly why."

"Because you are giving him little credit. I have given him the benefit of the doubt and kept a damn close eye on him. As I already told you, there is nothing he can do behind my back without my knowing."

My blood turned to ice, though I knew I had struck gold.

"Oh yes, he can't do a little play behind your back, Jacob, but he can do damn near anything else. You found out about the theater group, or maybe he even let you find that out."

I wanted to tear the door down and rip Jacob's head off. He fucking told to me he wouldn't say a damn thing about this to Matthew, but then I knew better to keep him at his word.

"Now you're insulting my intelligence, my knowledge of these things," Jacob said. "You rely on me for so much information yet you challenge my ability to keep grasp of it. Now that certainly offends me."

Matthew huffed a bit, Jacob had him in a nice little corner.

"I am not challenging your intelligence, brother, but I am challenging your ability to manage a boy with a history of being a bit difficult. Just because you've established a safe niche there doesn't mean he is mature enough to do the same. You've set up the perfect playing ground for him and to do something disastrous."

"Do you really think I would have gotten as far as I have to be so naïve as to let some boy run around behind my back? Please, Matthew, after all I've done. He is a deer, we are all wolves, there is no place he can hide. Do you think I would have allowed him into my world unless I had him in full rein?"

"But you're not exactly keeping a tight grip on that rein either. No, you send him on a trip to Paris supervised by little more than idiotic quill-pushers and think nothing on him getting drunk and paying private visits to an infamous libertine."

Oh balls, what did Jacob say to Matthew about the Paris trip? I started sweating a bit more at this turn of the conversation.

"I instructed those quill-pushers to keep a close eye on him and report back everything to me. Every report said that save for those couple nights of drunkenness — of which I also share your concern — he was on his best behavior. Besides those little visits turned an infamous skinflint into a generous investor."

"And how do I know he got that deal through diplomacy and numbers as opposed to paying for Marteille's opium and whores."

"Matthew, I have seen his negotiation skills plus I am more than familiar with Comte de Marteille's methods. Even if such debaucheries were transpiring, which I highly doubt they were given the reports I've gotten, the comte bends to nothing. I believe our younger brother deserves a bit more credit."

I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. Jacob hadn't told Matthew anything, or perhaps Jacob suspected nothing at all. Perhaps I was being a bit paranoid, though I could not afford any less.

Matthew paused for a long moment.

"Jacob, you need to keep a better eye on him," Matthew said. "I know he is intelligent and witty, though he is still an impressionable boy who has not yet proven himself all that trustworthy. I do not like what I've been hearing."

"You need to have a bit more faith in me, brother," Jacob said. "And you certainly would benefit from having a little more faith in Grell."

Talk went quiet from there. It was probably best if I moved on lest the door open. There was no more I needed to hear anyway. I pulled away from the door and walked back to my room, clenching my fists at my side.


	23. Part 23

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 23**

I promised my niece and nephews I would join them for tea and I made good on that promise. It took me a while to collect myself for the proper tea service, but I walked in the room freshly changed as I told them I would. They had just started sipping their tea and munching on their scones when I walked in the room, receiving a few small cheers.

I took a look at the clock on the wall, it was quarter of 5, my timing hadn't been that bad. Alas the clock was repeatedly shifting out of vision, a sign I might have guzzled down a little too much of the wine David brought to my room earlier. I was sipping down glass after glass whilst changing my clothes and lost track of how many I had. Thankfully I had enough bearings to maintain decorum in front of the young ones.

I could sit and sip tea and idly chit chat with them about their dog and how nice a lady their tutor was. Sarah talked about a new dress she had gotten for her birthday, it was blue and had ruffles at the bottom and the skirt flared out a bit like a grown woman's dress. I was rather fascinated by her descriptions of this garment.

"What shade of blue is it?" I said, only realizing as the words came out how enthusiastic I was.

"It's a dark blue, like the color of a dark night," she said, sharing my enthusiasm.

"Oh that would look so lovely with that pretty hair of yours, dearest," I said.

"I do love how it looks on me, it makes me look like a grown woman," she said.

"It is a mature color, but one that would look dazzling on you. I'd love to see it, I just love ruffles."

"Mummy wants to get me another dress for Easter, but I don't know what color I want it."

I pondered her lovely strawberry blond hair and innocent blue eyes.

"I think you would look lovely in a green with a bit of white lace," I said. "Green looks so good with red hair, plus it is so appropriate for the season. A nice green velvet dress with a nice billowing lace. That would be absolutely lovely."

She giggled.

"You seem rather enthused about this," Elijah said from the side with a chortle. "Do I sense an interest in dressmaking. Or do you want a green dress too."

"Papa that's silly," Sarah said. "Boys don't wear dresses."

"And why not," I said. "Maybe boys would want to look pretty too."

Elijah practically spat out his tea and went into a fit of giggles. It occurred to me that maybe I had said a bit too much in the wrong company. I glanced at Elijah, who was practically turning as red as the stubbly hair on his head. He actually took off his spectacles to give himself more freedom to bury his face in his hand and have a good laugh at my expense. Maryanne had a dainty hand to her mouth and was chuckling a bit too.

"You're so funny, Uncle Grell," Sarah said, grabbing my hands and lifting them up and down amid her own giggles. "Boys are handsome, like you uncle."

"Why thank you, darling," I said, patting her on the head.

"Tell me Grell, would green velvet look good on me too?" Elijah said, motioning toward himself with a light wrist. "Though I might be a bit too pale for white ruffles, perhaps a more subtle lace."

Maryanne lightly slapped him on the back of his hand. He took her hand and kissed it as the two went into another fit of giggles. Sarah covered her mouth and gave a merry child's laugh. The boys were chuckling as well and I saw a couple eye rolls. I was tempted to say something in response to this quip, but I had probably dug my hole rather nicely already. Instead I laughed along at my own expense.

"And I do think green would be a lovely color for Sarah," Maryanne said, thankfully turning the subject a bit. "Would you like that dear?"

"I would so love it, mummy," Sarah said.

And with that I was back in the clear.

Some kippers on toast and a couple tea cakes filled my stomach nicely and the numbness wore off. The children kept conversation light, thankfully not putting me in a position to be serious at the end of tea as opposed to my manner before. I hoped the earlier gaiety was already written off as simple silly humor with a small child. It probably wasn't seen as anything more, though my personal paranoia was speaking a bit loudly. The possibility was stronger that the one thing that was noticed was my minor inebriation.

Odds were Elijah would say something to Matthew or even make a side comment to Jacob and then I would get scolded like the small child I apparently was. There was a reason why I downed that wine in the first place. Thankfully the alcohol-induced relaxation and some frivolities with small children muted my earlier rage. Just a hour ago I wanted nothing more than to walk into Matthew's study with an axe and add to their little conversation. Now I was merely annoyed at the situation, probably for the best.

Now I would just sit back as I always did and allow everyone to coddle me to my face and tear me up behind my back. I would let Jacob and Matthew have their little quips while Elijah or Maryanne or the servants or even the children reported in on my comportment. Such was the nature of my life; I had to be on my best behavior and do everything that was expected of me as a young man. At the same time I could be spied upon and spat upon and regarded as a disagreeable child from now until the day I died.

Tea ended and I went back to my room for nearly the rest of the day. I read, played my violin a little, anything to keep my anger in check. My rage was slightly muted though still present.

David fetched me later in the evening for some Christmas Eve festivities with the family. It was the usual nonsense; the children were allowed to open one painstakingly wrapped gift and all of us got to ooh and ahh over it and pretend we actually cared. Dinner was light, mainly consisting of small meat pies and pastries we could all enjoy in the main lounge whilst warbling insipid carols. I could barely look at Matthew and Jacob no matter how much they tried to engage me in light conversation. I was having trouble facing Elijah as well, not knowing exactly what he said to who or if he was holding his peace for a better time.

I saw Isaac moping around a bit, keeping mostly to the wall with a glass of punch in his hand that never seemed to empty. Perhaps we could both get pissed together and share a word about how much we hated everyone in this room. His hatred probably extended toward me as well, I wouldn't be a good drinking buddy at present.

I casually sipped some mulled wine, feeling like I was on a little island surrounded by sharks. If only I had a harpoon to spear every single one of them into bloody ruin. I wonder how much Matthew's blubber would fetch on the market. It should be good for lighting a few London blocks if only for a night. Maybe a small household could subsist off it for a week, perhaps it should be donated to a poor family for use for a cold winter month. That's all he was good for.

I saw David relight a couple candles on the tree. If I huffed in the right direction, would that catch his sleeve a blaze? How fast could a nice wool garment burn before reaching flesh? I know David would go up like a dry tinder; he was so dry and bony anyway he might as well be stick of tinder. The flames would go high like fireworks, his screaming would be the lovely orchestral accompaniment. Everyone else's screams would add to the richness of the melody. The rest of the tree would catch a blaze, every insipid ribbon would turn to beautiful flickering red, every angel and every gold ball would melt, anything wrapped in pretty paper would join the display. Flames would shoot through the ceiling and catch the walls. Everyone would be screaming, pushing each other out of the way, crying out to an apathetic God to save their miserable lives. Oh it would be just wonderful!

Alas David was now blowing out the match and walking back to his routine. I at least wanted him to trip a little and lose the match under the tree, instead he discarded it in a small bowl on the mantle. I sipped my wine an admired all the flickering little lethal lights. Would anyone notice if I snuffed one out, yet left a subtle spark? What if I accidentally leaned it against the branch? It could stay like that for hours heating up wood and needles until it finally caught ablaze in a glorious display. Most everyone would be in their own quarters by then if not completely asleep to the danger downstairs. How long would it take for someone to notice the fire? How many people would be woken up before suffocating, or better yet who would burn to death?

I heard a few children's voices off to the side and was reminded there were little ones on the house. Did I really want them to die too? The obvious answer was no, I'd rather they escaped though I could not say the same for the vast majority of the adults here. It did occur to me that I would be in the same amount of danger. No, burning to death did not sound all that appealing.

Or perhaps I could stay awake a little longer. I could say I was taking a little walk to get a snack and saw the fire. Would I be the hero then? Would I be the toast of the house; the young hooligan turned valiant rescuer? It had a nice ring to it. I casually sipped my wine and looked around. I wanted to do it, I could feel my arm raise from my side and looked for whoever might have been around. The tree was fully out in the open as was I. This wouldn't go unnoticed, then what were the odds that someone was tasked with watching me constantly. I idly scratched an itch on my nose and went back to my sipping. I couldn't do this here.

I could come down later with a match or even a candle. By then the servants playing Father Christmas would have deposited the rest of the presents; how much paper and billowing bows would be right out there and vulnerable to a tiny spark? I could wait until the flames visible then smother them with a coat or a blanket in a dramatic fashion. "Grell we were so fortunate you were walking by right as the fire started. You are truly a Godsend."

Though what if a servant or a family member just happened to be walking by, or perhaps walking by knowing I was up. I walked away from the tree and collected a couple nuts from a small bowl on the table. There was no way I could do this and avert suspicion. My mind turned over all the ways this could happen, though each one was riskier than the first.

Even if I wasn't caught in the act, even If I did look like the hero, how many questions would come out of this? What were the odds someone would notice that bad things tend to happen in this house whenever little Grell is here. "A man died suddenly last Christmas, right outside Grell's room to be exact. What of that young man who took his own life, that man Grell said was like a brother. Interesting too how Robbie's dog was mauled right before Grell left for school. Robbie did you have any cross words with Grell at all that summer? Perhaps about that maid you saw him bloody up?"

Perhaps it was paranoia, but then caution was always the wiser word. I really couldn't take any chances at this point. I just went about the insipid celebration, bade goodnight to the small ones as they huddled to their beds before Father Christmas' arrival, and retired with the rest of the adults around 10.

The passing of time steeled my nerves a bit more. I lay in bed sleeplessly considering my previous plans. This time I was shaking my head a bit, perhaps I was actually coming to my senses. What a childish response to a few words taken out of turn. Here I am getting so unsettled by some comments about my maturity and plan to get some petty revenge in response. I would be proving my brothers right by acting so ridiculously. I couldn't allow that; perhaps I really did have much more to prove.

Perhaps they think I'm such an unruly child because I've been behaving like one. Six months was a long time to prove my worth, yet perhaps they were still unconvinced. I needed to do all I could to truly show how much of a man I really was, not only to my brothers but to the world as well. I had to spend years immersed in my work to even hope for some respect or commendation. Even after decades, when I had done nothing in my life but work with a few side hobbies to keep me docile, would I still earn that respect? Maybe I would need to find some pretty young filly, marry her, and impregnate her before getting any respect.

What kind of respect would truly make me happy? I drifted off to an uneasy sleep with this one thought lingering in my mind.

A rap on my door caused me to jump a bit. It was just then when I realized it was daylight. I could hear David's voice saying "Master Grell, it is time to wake up." I looked at the clock on the wall: it was the stroke of 8.

"I will be along in a moment," I called out, my voice hoarse and my head hurting.

My head swam, my body ached. Did I actually sleep last night? I had, but it had been dreamless. It was the type of sleep you wake from and wish you could have another chance. That one lingering sentence replayed itself in my mind as if reminding me of its presence, pushing me a little more to an uneasy mindset. Fuck it all if it wasn't Christmas too; this was going to be a grand day.

I peeled on some clothes, tied back my hair, and walked from my room to join the glorious festivities. The childlike laughing and many cheers of "Merry Christmas" could be heard down the hallway from the grand sitting room. I walked in the room to the usual scene I see every single bloody year; a pile of presents under the tree, the most predictable gifts that money can afford. The usual sight of children flocking around the pile, shaking them, talking about how good they were for Father Christmas to visit. The adults sitting in a side corner watching the little brats tear into their presents. Oh look, a stuffed bear, a few wooden wagons, some clothes.

A few of these gifts were for me: some new stockings, novels I wouldn't be caught dead reading, oh look a nice new quill set with inkwells for the big work desk. I was a bit amused to find a present from Jacob; a nice annotated edition of "Romeo and Juliet" complete with a few scholarly essays on the play by the brightest minds in modern literary theory. I was both tickled and annoyed by this gift. I gave him a polite thanks and didn't miss the little knowing smile he was giving me. Thank you so much for reminding me of your double dealings, you bastard.

If I didn't have enough of a headache when I woke up, it was fully locked in now with all the insipid prattering from the sitting room to the breakfast table. Child and adult voices were going on all at once and I didn't care to follow along with any of them. I just wanted some bloody food and spend the rest of the day buried in my room. A couple glasses of wine before breakfast took a bit of the edge off. Perhaps now was a good time to get tipsy; I truly didn't give a bloody damn who noticed. Let Elijah give me odd looks, let Jacob and Matthew discuss it at great lengths later. I was done trying to impress people who didn't like me; let's see how long I held onto that statement.

At last I finally got some hot egg and toast with jam into me and started feeling a little better. In fact I was at the point of carrying on an intelligent conversation, though wasn't quite my normal witty self just yet. I was glad my mood elevated a bit more by the time Elijah started asking Isaac about his favorite classes. The lad broke his sullen silence and commenced to brag about how good a student he was and how many teachers gave him pats on the back for being so intelligent and witty at his age. I was glad I was in a sociable mood because it meant I could anticipate where he would steer this conversation and spare a fork slamming into someone's eye.

"I have taken a great interest in mathematics, especially finance," Isaac said.

I glanced over at Matthew for a second and saw him butter his bread a little harder and gave his eldest a bit of an irritated glance. Maybe there would be an entertaining show after all.

"That is an important life skill to have, the earlier you learn the better," Elijah said.

I wondered if Matthew gave him the same little lecture about not encouraging little Isaac's sophisticated tantrum over his age and involvement with the company. If he steered a carriage the same manner he was steering this conversation, said carriage would be plummeting sideways to the ground.

"Indeed, and learning is vital," Jacob said.

I saw Matthew give Jacob a little look. Whether that meant he was thanking him for his pointed interjection or quietly telling him to shut the hell up I really didn't know.

"I certainly agree," Isaac said. "Though I cannot wait to put those lessons into use in the world."

"The world can be a harsh place for the inexperienced," Jacob said, spooning some sugar in his coffee. "That is why it is important to have a strong educational foundation."

"Perhaps a combination of both is certainly beneficial," Isaac said.

I could see Matthew's posture stiffen out the corner of my eye, he drew his fork back from his mouth and took a couple hasty last chews of his food as if readying himself to say something.

"Uncle Grell, if you don't mind my asking, what has been your experience being so young and entering the financial world?" Isaac said.

If subtle glances represented actions, Matthew would have jumped on me and slammed me into the wall. It was an uncomfortable position, though I trusted my own abilities to take the heat off myself.

"Real world experience has indeed been valuable for me," I said. "Though I would not have achieved the success I have if I did not enter my work with a strong educational foundation. I understand how eager one can be in his youth, though I understand the benefit of gaining the tools to function in the world."

Matthew went back to eating his sausage with a blank expression.

"Though I understand your recent education has been solely in the world of business and not in school," Isaac said.

I had a ready answer prepared for this.

"Isaac I am sure Uncle Grell would rather not have his breakfast interrupted by personal questions," Matthew said.

"My apologies, father, I was simply making conversation," Isaac said, or rather whined.

"Well it is Christmas and I would rather not have any such conversation at the table, especially pertaining to any subject you and I have discussed before at length," Matthew said. "It is more than a bit rude."

Isaac glared at him.

"My apologies, father," Isaac said with a downcast glance. "And my apologies as well, Uncle Grell."

"No need to apologize to me, Isaac," I said, taking a sip of wine.

"No I believe there is a need," Matthew said. "He was being rather presumptuous and prying where he was not welcome. Especially since I already have spoken to him about this topic. Your education is vital at this young age, Isaac, and that is it."

Really digging it in aren't we, brother? And right in front of the whole family at that, bravo for being such a humanitarian not to mention such a warm father. I was wrong to take his condescension so personally; this was apparently how he spoke to everyone of a certain age. Isaac looked ready to glare at his father, but his downcast expression communicated that he knew better.

"Worry not, nephew," I said. "Enjoy your youth while you can. Some of us are just unfortunate in that respect."

I shot a smile over to Jacob, who nodded his head and chuckled.

"Indeed," Jacob said before putting a spoonful of egg in his mouth.

"I believe what is most vital for all of us is the company of family on this day," Elijah said in a merry tone that betrayed tenseness. "The Lord has blessed us with this opportunity on His most sacred day."

His carriage and his horses would all be a big ball tumbling end over end careening down a cliff. If only I could see that happen in person instead of figuratively, alas conversations didn't work like driving. This clumsy turn did provide enough of a distraction for table conversation to resume its natural state, though not without a few subtle glares and a few frowns from certain parties.

I was happy when breakfast was over and everyone scattered to the winds. I allowed some idle chatting, but casually got the hell out of there so I could go back to my room and away from my idiot family members. I rang David and asked for a bottle of wine. I wanted to get nice and numb before dinner; perhaps it would make the pain of that feast a bit more bearable.

I did a little reading until David finally knocked at my door. I let him in, though saw only a small decanter and a glass on the tray as opposed to the bottle.

"My apologies sir, but whole bottles are to be saved for household use only per order of the baron," David said.

I suppressed an eye roll and simply nodded in understanding. He placed the decanter and glass on the small table by my bed and left.

Since when was this bloody rule in place? Since I showed up for tea last night a bit giddy, most likely. The timing was more than suspect. It appeared my suspicions were correct and Elijah did say something to Matthew. The answer was that obvious unless David said something. No, Elijah would have seen more; David simply dropped off the tea service and went about his sullen way. Even if the servants were paid to relay intelligence, Elijah was in more of a position to call me out.

I poured a small amount of the wine in the glass and took a sip. I suppose if I emptied the decanter and asked for more, I would be given a similarly insipid excuse as to why I couldn't get a refill. Just bloody terrific. Perhaps there was a legitimate purpose behind this; what good would it accomplish for me to just stay in my room all day and get drunk? As much as I would prefer it, perhaps I would be better off actually trying to enjoy the company of family despite my own childish grudges.

I had the glass and decided to go wandering a bit. I had to admit I enjoyed my time with Elijah's children yesterday, maybe they were good for some entertainment after all. The children were all in the lounge playing with their toys, Robbie was there too and showing Elijah's youngest boy Adam how to pull his little wagon without it toppling over. After this lesson was done, Robbie asked me for a game of checkers like old times. I was more than obliged. At least one of Matthew's children had grown to be agreeable.

I was half curious if Robbie was going to mention his elder brother's little snit at the breakfast table, though he never brought up the subject. I was hardly put off by this, I would rather have avoided that subject anyway. It was nice idle talk between us, everything relaxingly mundane. Alas our quiet time ended the moment Matthew's round form entered the room. He was all smiles, though the bastard never remained friendly for long. The way he walked right up to our little table told me he was here for more than curious observation.

He gave his own pithy greetings and watched us do the last moves of our game. Robbie jumped my three last pieces with his lone king, I was rather impressed with his strategy. Matthew gave us a light clap.

"Most excellent, son," Matthew said.

I gave a little clap too, though noticed how quickly Matthew leaned in my direction.

"I apologize for interrupting your merriment, but might I have a word with you, Grell?" Matthew said.

Bloody hell what was this about. This had better have been about business. I nodded and rose. He patted my back and lead me forward, I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I left the room. Matthew led me a little ways down the hallway to a less populated area, then stopped and looked around. We were alone, everyone else was up to whatever they were doing and it was just the two of us.

"Grell I apologize for the position you were put in during breakfast," Matthew said. "Isaac's speech was very rude and unbecoming of a young man. I do want to keep absolute peace in this house for the holiday and have no misunderstanding or ill will."

I was about to give a polite response, though he didn't give me room for a breath before launching into his next speech.

"You did make a comment to the effect of 'some of us are just unfortunate,'" he said. "I understood your meaning perfectly. However Isaac, as we have seen, is easily unsettled by this whole matter and alas a bit too naïve to understand that the comment was meant in self-deprecating jest."

I couldn't be hearing what I thought I was hearing.

"I am afraid Isaac took the comment as a direct insult, that you were calling him 'unfortunate' and laughing about it. He is in a rather ill mood right now as a result. I believe it would be best if you speak to him directly, explain the meaning of what was said, and tell him you meant no harm by it."

Let me see if I understand this correctly: I make an idle crack, he takes it personally, and now it is my duty to settle his ill mood, likely by apologizing for speaking out of turn when such really didn't happen. Even Jacob was chuckling about it too and here I was being singled out. Poor little Isaac should be coddled for his lack of wit, and naughty little Grell should be whipped at every opportunity.

"I understand," I said. "I am sorry he took it that way. I will speak to him about this."

"Good," Matthew said. "I am not expecting you to grovel before him. Simply explain what you truly meant."

"I shall do so."

"I am glad to hear that, Grell," Matthew said, patting me on the shoulder. "Dinner is at 6 and it will be most delicious. Oh and don't forget to try the currant biscuits in the dining room. They are simply scrumptious."

"I will be sure to try them," I said.

Matthew nodded and walked away.

I would definitely try the biscuits later, right before meeting back up with the children and enjoying their spirited presence before the novelty wore off. Robbie and I would meet again and have a couple more rounds of checkers. Then I went right to my room to enjoy some quiet time right before the death march to dinner.

That little word with Isaac, however, never happened. In fact it was nowhere on my agenda. I told Matthew I would speak to him, but I never said when I would do so. I figured never was the best time.

Why the bloody hell should I have to explain myself? If the brat never learned nuanced conversation by now, it wasn't my damn responsibility to teach him. He's 15-years-old, a young man now and here he is still being coddled by mummy and papa. This is the heir to a barony and a major company, he would have to learn sociability at some point and now was the best time. We used to beat the shit out of little brats like this at King's Crest, perhaps such actions were for the best. Perhaps we actually taught a few spoiled eggs some manners and some life skills. Besides I have neither sympathy nor tolerance for people who take such easy offense.

David fetched me for dinner right before 6. My blissful Christmas Day to myself was now being interrupted in the rudest way possible. I was dreading a replay of breakfast, though perhaps people had been pulling on the Christmas cheer enough to relax a bit. I walked from my room; David then walked toward another door in need of knocking, leaving me alone to do the slow march to the dining room. I didn't realize how much I was dreading this, how much I wanted to just go back to my room and avoid every one of these bastards. This was all part of the experience, however. I would only have to endure this through tonight and the next day, then Jacob and I were back to London. This was not especially reassuring.

I walked into the dining room, seeing the smiling masks on all my family members. I gave a few polite greetings, took my seat with a glass of wine, and wished to get this whole thing the hell over with. Isaac came into the dining room later looking especially sullen. At least he was wearing his true face, I had to respect him for that. He looked over at me, oh the daggers he shot at me with that one glance. I did all I could to keep from grinning. He bloody hated me right now; I couldn't believe how much amusement I found in this.

Matthew took his seat at the head of the long table per usual, his wife sitting on his right. Isaac decided to sit next to his mother on the right, leaving Timothy to sit next to their father. It seemed as if little Isaac could not stand being near his father right now. Jacob sat next to Robbie and I took a seat beside Jacob. Elijah sat right next to Isaac, probably the best choice. Maryanne sat next to him and the children filled in both sides. The end of the table was unoccupied, providing a bit more room for the servants.

I found sitting with a group of agreeable small children infinitely preferable to sitting with such disagreeable grown children. I was far enough from Isaac to be comfortable, yet it was still too close. I don't know why I reminded myself there were thirteen people at this table. It was almost appropriate; thirteen people at a long table for a grand supper on a high Christian holiday. Alas this wasn't Good Friday, though that didn't stop me from speculating on who would hang himself and who would be crucified. Perhaps a couple mental images could keep me amused.

We had a lovely roast goose with plenty of chestnut stuffing and vegetables to go around. Thankfully conversation was kept small as everyone stuffed their faces. I saw Jacob poking his fork a little more at some sliced cherries in the stuffing, furrowing his eyebrows and examining them closely. I looked up and saw Matthew looking at him with a little smirk.

"Find something of interest?" Matthew said, taking a sip of wine.

"These cherries have a lovely crunch to them," Jacob said. "It is as if they were prepared still ripe."

I poked a little at a cherry slice in my stuffing as well and found it indeed crunched. Normally cooked cherries were little pulps, these were still firm. Why would Jacob be noticing this? Because, as I learned from work, the cherry season ends around July; anything after this would be compote though here were some fresh cherries. How could this be possible? My eyes widened slightly at a realization. I looked up at Matthew to see him grinning at me.

"We were just working on a dry box…" I said

"…That maintains the right amount of moisture and cold to mimic spring conditions," Matthew said, pointing his fork at me. "Absolutely."

"Well well, the prototype worked," Jacob said. "And I recall you had a bit of a hand in the design, brother."

Jacob patted me on the back. I was grinning from ear to ear. We talked about this device for a few weeks and I took down most of the sketches. Here I was eating the results of that creation.

"We have been using it at the house for the past two months and so far it has worked like a dream," Matthew said. "We will be talking about the marketing portion in the new year."

Matthew winked at me upon saying this. I hoped this meant I could be seeing some of the returns or even a patent, though I knew better than to anticipate anything from this lot.

"You design products, Uncle Grell?" Isaac said, his voice betraying no small amount of strain.

Oh damn, look what just got started again.

Matthew rolled his eyes and opened his mouth slightly to say something.

"I assist with the process, yes," I said.

This wasn't going to be a polite conversation, I just knew it.

"Interesting," Isaac said. "And how much of an educational foundation does one need to create our company's products?"

"Isaac," Matthew groaned.

"No, I'd be happy to share a little information with our lad here," I said.

"How kind, because I really want to know how much of a grammar school education is sufficient to run our company," Isaac said, raising slightly from his seat.

So he finally decided to speak his small mind. Oh this was going to be amusing. His mother grabbed him by the torso and tried to lead him back down, though he was only standing up a little further.

I should have steered this conversation into more neutral waters, but where was the fun of that. I was done being polite, I was done keeping civility. If this brat wanted to lay into me, I was right open.

"More of one than you have at the moment," I said.

"Grell," Matthew said.

"Because that is truly what you have been trying to teach this boy, brother; you need a bit more schooling before being given such a grown-up responsibility."

"And how much of a grown-up does that make you, uncle?" Isaac barked. "You weren't even able to complete your last year and yet you are making a tidy profit."

"Isaac William Andrew, that is enough!" Matthew said, standing up and pointing a finger at Isaac.

"No it's not enough, father!" Isaac shouted back. "I'm done with this! You treat this ruffian better than your own heir! I am going to inherit this whole company one day and you keep me at arm's length, let you let this idiot have full power!"

I cackled rather loudly at this.

"Let it all out, little Isaac," I said. "Get out your tantrum while you have an audience."

"Grell please," Jacob said.

"You think this is bloody funny?" Isaac said, leaning over the table into my face.

"Isaac calm yourself please," Elijah said, putting a hand on his back.

Isaac shoved his hand away and walked around the table. Elijah got up and tried to get a hold of him, but he simply stormed over.

"I think it's rather bloody funny how you think you're such a responsible man of business when you're nothing but a hooligan, a malcontent," Isaac shouted.

I leaned back in my seat and laughed a bit more. Jacob put his elbow on the table, resting his forehead in his hand.

"Says the brat who's getting up and screaming at me," I said, taking a sip of wine.

Elijah's boys Paul and Sam were pulling on Isaac's coat as he walked by, their little voices asking him to stop yelling. Sarah was giving out breathy sobs, tears starting to spill from her eyes. Maryanne wrapped her arms around her. Little Adam just sat there with a look of confusion.

"Because I'm done with everyone in this house treating you as if you're a grown man, because you're not," Isaac said. "You're a child, you're the biggest child here! You can't even handle being in a school, you have to get thrown in a safe corner before your own peers try to kill you."

I kept my smile in place, though it stiffened.

"Are you here to expose me for my faults, tell everyone how much of a brute I am," I said. "You, younger than me and a bit louder right now, are telling me how very immature I am. You really are a laugh, you know that. No wonder why you're not in the company."

"Grell Nils Sutcliff, that's enough!" Matthew yelled.

"Maybe I'm not so fortunate as simply more of a man," I said, emphasizing the word "fortunate." I stared straight into those blue eyes rimmed with the hot red of righteous anger and tears held back for too long. "Perhaps you are so unfortunate in your own stupidity."

"Grell," Jacob said with a hard sigh.

I kept my eyes locked on Isaac, though saw Maryanne get up from her seat and beckon the children to go over to her.

"I'm not the cast-off, I'm not the last of the barrel, I am damn more fortunate than you are," Isaac said. "I am a man of the house, you are just tolerated."

I saw Matthew get up from his seat from the corner of my eye, his wife got up and held him back.

"You think you're so bloody fortunate, think you're such a gentleman, think you're so much better than everyone else," he continued, his hand on the table and leaning right over me. "Well allow my to correct you. No one in this family bloody likes you."

"Isaac that's a monstrous thing to say!" Elijah said.

Maryanne scurried out of the room with the children gathered around her. I chuckled again.

"Oh tell me about this sweet, sweet hate, brat," I said. "Just let it all out."

"You're only being given this job because you can't do anything else, because everything else you do you foul up with your distemper," Isaac said. "Father thinks this is the best way to reform you."

"Isaac," Matthew said.

I didn't exactly like the way my brother said that. I glanced over at him and saw him heaving back down in his chair, face blanched and his fingers to his forehead. He looked a bit guilty, perhaps a bit exposed.

"I'm tired of bloody hiding, father!" Isaac said. "I'm supposed to accept this? Your ruin of a brother is worthy of more prestige for reform than your own heir to ready his career? Because that's all you are, Grell Sutcliff!"

My fingers lightly tapped the table, my index finger flicking the handles of my knife and fork.

"You only have this job to prove you can be a contributing man of society, I know this because father told me. Like that's going to make me feel better about any of this! I think you should be thrown in a hole. You're a worthless wretch and I can't stand seeing you hoisted up like you mean something!"

My hand wrapped around the handle of the knife and whipped upward, falling down with the blade landing in the middle of Isaac's hand. Isaac screamed and raised his hand up. Lovely red dripped onto the white tablecloth. I pushed my chair back and smacked my elbow hard into his pudgy belly. He fell backward with a crash and another scream. I heard commotion all around me, an accompaniment to my subsequent dance.

I leapt gracefully from my chair, turned for a moment, and let my knees land on his chest. He grunted with the fall. I just couldn't stand hearing any noise from him anymore. My hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed tightly, my thumbs in a firm position against his Adam's apple. He must have gone through the change rather young because the Adam's apple was nice and formed, a little thicker to press against than the throats of younger boys. Too bad such growth never took place in his mind. He managed a few more grunts, though at last I completely silenced him.

He wiggled and bucked quite a bit, his hands coming to my wrists. His right hand was a bit bloody and hurt at the moment and his left hand simply fell off. I slammed his head against the floor to give him a little momentum. Hands grabbed me all over, forces trying to pry me off but I was staying where I was. He was going bright red, those once proud eyes now wide with terror. A wide grin formed on my face.

"What's wrong, you little veal, don't have any more witty things to say to me?" I said, my voice a breathy cackle. "That's right because you're going to bloody die right here."

The forces around my body pulled stronger, a few sets of hands wrapping around my wrists and prying them hard.

"See how blessed your fucking life is now that it's ending!" I cackled. "See how fucking special you are now!"

"Uncle Grell let go," Robbie's voice yelled in my ear. "Uncle Grell don't do this!"

"I'm in a much better position now than you'll ever be, you little twat!"

Isaac was starting to turn blue. I felt my limbs trembling, the first shaking of the foundation before the building collapses. My hands were shaking, I strained my muscles to keep them in place but my grip was loosening. The force against my wrists sent them flying to the side. Isaac coughed violently and turned on his side. I lunged forward to regain my grip, though I was pulled back by forces all around me. I struggled, though was only gripped harder.

"Get a bloody hold of yourself!" Jacob yelled in my ear.

"I fucking hate every single one of you!" I screamed.

I felt myself pulled back even harder. Lady Charlotte ran over to her boy sobbing. Isaac gave out gasping breaths. The knife was now lying on the floor, splashes of crimson all around; dripping down his hand and down his shirt as he grabbed his throat. His mother cradled his head and kissed the side of his face. Matthew leaned on the table, a murderous glare planted straight on me. I only smirked in response.

"Brother calm yourself please," Elijah said in my ear, his voice shaking.

I took a few deep breaths, my sense returning and my muscles trembling harder. I whipped my arms forward and freed them from the grip, turning my body back to loosen the hands everywhere else. I felt fingers reach for me, though I practically ran in the opposite direction. A few voices called my name and footsteps ran forward, but I didn't turn back.

I went through the door and down the hallway. No more footsteps came in my direction and I did not hear any more yelling. I was alone at last, like I truly wanted to be.


	24. Part 24

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Chapter 24**

I took a steady march out of the room readying myself to sprint. No one chased after me. I heard a few rustles and hasty voices, though paid no attention to what any of them were saying. I did hear Matthew's voice rather loudly.

"Stay the bloody hell away from him, Elijah! No one go near him!"

That would explain the lack of pursuit. I heard Elijah's muffled voice followed by an even louder response from the baron.

"Let him do something rash! I want him to do something rash! He's free to hang himself if he wishes, it will keep me from killing him myself!"

It was so nice to finally hear some honesty from dearest Matthew's mouth and not secondhand. This had been a night of revelations.

The further I walked down the corridor, the less shouting I heard. It was all quiet, calm, a pleasant void I really needed. I walked toward my room, my breath in heaves and every muscle trembling. I was enraged, though exhilarated. I felt truly free. There was no need for hiding, no need for masks; I had finally expressed my true affections to my family from the bottom of my cold, black heart. I looked down at my hand, seeing a small drop of blood from my nephew. It was a prize to me; one part of my mind screamed that I had spilled the blood of my own nephew, that I had nearly killed him. The louder part of my brain was disappointed that it was only the drop.

I wanted to release a river down these corridors, I wanted to pile up the bodies; Jacob, then Elijah, then Isaac with his father the prize on top. Anyone else who cared to challenge me would be filed somewhere in the stack. I would create an art piece out of the lot of them, that's all any of them were good for.

I passed by one of the maids and glanced at her with a smirk. She averted her eyes and walked a little faster. It was a wise move, I was ready to unleash everything unholy upon anyone who so much as gave me a sideways look; male, female, young, old, it didn't matter. I tasted blood and thirsted for more.

I had nearly forgotten my reputation with the help following that little incident with Emily. Once word of these recent happenings reached the staff, I would be feared even more. As much as I liked the sound of that, it more accurate prediction was that this would be my last night ever in this house if I was even allowed to spend the night. I chuckled at little at this thought.

I reached my room at last, going in and gently closing the door. I still heard no footsteps, no yells, no voices calling my name. They really were leaving me alone. Perhaps they were forming into a unified collective to tear me limb from limb. They were welcome to try, let's see how many of them I could finally end before the Reaper came for me as well. I thought to start packing, might as well have all my effects in order before I was hurled into the snow, or rather it would be best to have my possessions in an organized place for them to sell when they ended me.

Instead I pulled the ribbon from my hair and settled my form into my red velvet couch. My muscles were trembling less, though my heart continued to race. It was a bizarre calm, the calm within complete chaos; the eye of the storm. I was resting in that eye and watching everything get torn up around me. Somehow being in that danger zone, that state of no return, felt liberating. I was sitting in my quiet waiting to hear the running steps and angry shouts of everyone in the house coming to end me. No, murder was a little too melodramatic of a possibility, though I doubted I would leave this house to the world I knew.

There were going to be serious consequences for my actions. My position with the company was likely gone as was any prospect of university. I couldn't see Matthew paying another shilling for my apartment. Perhaps my last request would be to keep the money from my salary that had already been stashed away, though that could easily be reclaimed into Jacob's coffers; he probably arranged it that way.

I did have a modest amount from my theater salary in that account under the name Samuel Weston, not enough for any real living expenses but it was a start. I would request to go back to London at the very least, from then on they would never have to hear my name again. I would speak to Colin and give him a pared down version of my sad story; I had a falling out with my family and lost my position. Does he know of anyone who could give me a bed to sleep on for a while? Perhaps could I sleep in the theater? I would be willing to do work around the building to make some money. Colin was a kind gent, perhaps he could help me any little way; or perhaps I would learn how much of a selfish bastard he actually was under that kind exterior. The thought of doing any work of such kind was less than amusing, though it was either that or giving my family the satisfaction of starving death.

If I was simply thrown into the snow, the manor was not that isolated. Within a few hours I could be in Boreham; it would be a cold, dark walk with the prospect of highwaymen along the way though what did I care. Let them strip me, let them murder me, I truly had nothing more to lose. I had destroyed all the rest and was left with an emptiness of my own creation, an emptiness that liberated me.

I doubted I would be left in the cold, it would mean I was free to my own devices; including torching the manor. Now I wanted to get kicked-out that night, it would give me a nice excuse to cause some real destruction. I couldn't help but smile a bit at the thought, but it was a fantasy only; something that cooled my nerves a bit.

I was glad I placed the decanter of wine on my sitting table earlier, it meant no effort was required to pour myself a glass. I lacked the interest to down it, instead I took healthy gulps letting it calm me a little at a time. I was about to pour myself a second glass when I heard a knock at the door. I smiled a little and poured myself the glass; the angry mob came for me at last, might as well enjoy some refreshment before being ripped apart.

"Brother, it's Elijah," said the corresponding voice.

So he pulled away from Matthew and finally got his chance to counsel me, or give me his own tongue lashing. He was probably the soft lure, there was likely a whole army behind him.

"Come in," I said. "It's unlocked."

I sipped my glass and stared ahead as I heard the door creak open. Soon a set of soft footsteps entered sounding as if they only belonged to one person. I saw Elijah's form out of the corner of my eye approaching with careful steps as if walking toward a wild animal. I couldn't help but imagine myself as a king approached by a simpering subject in fear I would order his head lopped off. It felt good; I just sipped my wine and stared ahead for another moment, letting him sweat a bit more.

At last I cast my gaze upon him, seeing him stand still with his hands folded in front of him and regarding me with a nervous expression.

"I came alone, you have my word," he said in a careful voice. "In fact Matthew thought it best if you were left alone."

"Left alone so I can hang myself if I choose to, spare him bloodying his own hands," I said. "I overheard part of that conversation."

Elijah gave a painful sigh and clasped his hands tighter.

"I am sorry you heard that," he said. "Though those were the words of a father toward the man who so wounded his son. As a father, I cannot blame him for his anger. I might be saying some similar harsh words if it were my child, Grell."

I looked down at my glass and simply nodded, really for lack of a better reaction. I could hear the floodgates opened on me, may as well listen with a mask of remorse. Perhaps I would actually feel some, though at the moment I felt nothing but cold discomfort.

"How is he now?" I asked.

"Shaken naturally, he was able to get up.,' Elijah said. "Last I saw his brothers walked him to his room with their mother at their side. The doctor has been summoned for him."

I nodded again. So he was mobile, a promising development. I was actually somewhat relieved; as much as I wanted to see him dead, having him end up in such a state would have been rather bad for me.

Elijah slowly lowered himself into the matching chair across from me.

"Isaac's condition looks promising at the moment, so I am settled in that respect," he said. "I love my nephew and it tears at me to see him harmed, though I also worry much for my brother. The heart that cries for Isaac cries for you as well, Grell. I cannot speak for your heart, though I heard the fire in Isaac's words and I know your struggles; especially with your brothers."

So he was taking the diplomatic approach, was he? I dared think that perhaps he would sympathize with my plight, though it would be a foolish hope.

"I do not condone your actions, I cannot say that enough, though I understand what set off the powder keg," he said. "Every person is responsible for his or her own actions. But I truly believe there is no such thing as a wicked man, brother; only a misguided one. many men are pushed toward the Devil by those who should be nurturing and protecting them. Instead their basic guardians push them along a path that leads to nothing but suffering. I have ministered to paupers, criminals, addicts and all have the same story. To think that the same was going on right in my family toward my own brother horrifies me. I feel great guilt for not being my brother's keeper."

It was a lovely sermon, though if he was spreading it around to the rest of the family perhaps there was a sliver of hope for me. It was best to play along.

"I have sinned, brother, I accept responsibility for my actions," I said. "I have given into the sin of Wrath many times, I am sure you heard all the stories."

Elijah nodded with a sad look.

"I have wanted nothing more than to prove myself," I continued, conjuring a breathy tone. "Matthew and Jacob gave me the opportunity to do that, to have a career and a life where I can truly build myself. I had their approval, or perhaps I thought I did."

"Now you fear those kind words might have been all lies," he said with an edge in his voice I had never heard before.

Was I hearing more subtle dissent within the family? Was Elijah rather cross with his elder brothers? The tone of this conversation was making a bit more sense. There were so many ways I could reap the rewards, though only if I played with a subtle hand. I looked down and nodded. I was sorely tempted to bring up the conversation I overheard between Matthew and Jacob, but that would only make me look desperate and make it clearly look as if I had listened on purpose. It was best to keep this quiet; if what I said got back to them, perhaps it would press against their little discussion earlier.

"My actions have earned me a degree of mistrust, I can understand that," I said. "Though I only hope I can someday earn their confidence. I thought I did, though Isaac's words called that into doubt."

"Oh, dearest brother," Elijah said. "All you have wanted was validation for your efforts and you feel that has been snatched away or was all a lie."

I nodded, my hand shook a little around the stem of the glass. This wasn't acting now, this was getting to the root of so many things. That was what triggered my anger in the first place, what caused it to burn hot since yesterday until it exploded tonight. Everyone just kept on adding more kindling until Isaac deliberately dropped the flame.

"That is why you cursed out all of us," he said. "Thinking us all part of the conspiracy."

It scared me how accurate his words were, but then I wasn't exactly that hared to read at this point.

"I'm sorry, brother, I haven't learn to trust those of my own blood, I never have," I said.

Elijah gazed at me, his mouth opening a bit and his eyes slightly widening. I could only guess what connections he just made, connections that hurt my brain to imagine; connections to somebody old and dead that all of us were better for forgetting. He said nothing, only nodded. I wanted him to ask. I wanted him to ask me what horrors I had witnessed; from the axe in front of my face to the slaughtered cow to the slaughtered servants, I wanted him to bloody ask.

"It is a trust that has to be earned," he said. "You are right, we have to learn to trust you. At the same time you have to learn to trust us, though how can we expect the one when we are not giving you the latter. I understand too well. All I ask is that you try your best, though we all need to be held accountable."

This was either a victory or another empty statement to get me to shut it. I had given up any hope this was anything good.

"However your actions are your own and you need to he held accountable for what you do," Elijah said. "We have been remiss in our duties toward you, though you have your own duties to yourself and those around you."

I nodded.

"I truly regret what I have done," I said, matching the heavy expression with a heavy look. "I only hope there is redemption for me."

"There is redemption for all of us. All men are sinners and all men can know redemption if they confess and begin to make matters right. Christ died for our sins, we only need to remember the sacrifice and better ourselves."

"I want to take that path. I want to truly show my family that I am a good man, I want to clear myself of my sins."

"I see the good in you, Grell Sutcliff. And I have faith that you will work to strengthen all that is good with you and shut out all temptations."

"That warms my heart, brother."

"Grell, I am going to share our conversation with your brothers. Always remember you have an ally in me. You have every right not to trust any of us, though try to trust me, brother."

"I shall try."

"That is all I ask."

He clasped my hand and asked to join him in a prayer, typical bollocks. I humored him, bowing my head and keeping my eyes low for his empty petition to the Almighty for the understanding of family and for my happy future. I figured God was a little busy, or He gave up on me a long time ago. Perhaps I was some form of sick amusement for Him, or rather the Devil was watching with keen interest. By now I really couldn't have cared; I just wanted this nonsense over with and Elijah out of my bloody room at last.

He finally rose and gave me one more assuring word before leaving. I admit I felt somewhat relieved after our conversation. I knew better than to trust Elijah as an ally, though having it out in a peaceful manner felt rather good. Maybe there was truly some good in confessing my faults if only on a shallow level, perhaps it simply felt good to talk.

I wasn't making any guesses as to whether this conversation saved me from impending doom. It could have nailed my coffin a little harder, or it would result in some appeal to Matthew to keep me from being murdered. I wouldn't know until someone told me, though given the timing the jury was likely in deliberation. Maybe Isaac lingered on the point of death, if he kicked off I was more than a little fucked.

Whilst I waited for the verdict, I had another glass and managed to collect my thoughts enough to do a little reading. I was paying attention to the clock about now, noticing the turn of 8 o'clock. By now everyone would normally begin the insipid Christmas night festivities. I slightly mourned the lack of plum pudding at the moment, though perhaps they would offer me a poisoned slice later.

It was around quarter past when I heard another knock at the door. My nerves were so calm at this point I didn't bother thinking on who it might be. I called for whoever to enter, putting my book and glass down to look appropriately pensive after nearly killing my nephew. David entered the room and stopped before me, this wasn't a surprising development.

"Sir, I bring a message from the baron," David said. "His lordship says he will send for you in a short while. Until such time you are to remain in your quarters."

Finally an answer of sorts, even if it were only a second-hand message. The last demand was simple, in fact I planned to remain in my room until such time this whole mess was resolved.

"Thank you, David," I said.

"In the meantime, his lordship bade me to remain at your disposal," David said. "Would you care for any refreshment, young master?"

"A glass of hot cider, if you will."

It was still Christmas after all.

"Certainly, sir."

"Thank you, David."

He bowed and left my presence.

I was content with sitting and waiting for a little while longer. I had calmed significantly, now I needed to decide if I was just going to shut up and accept a tongue-lashing or if I would air every single grievance I had with this family when finally given the occasion. Perhaps a combination of both was the wisest choice. If I were to leave here in shame I had nothing to lose with some honesty; though I couldn't begin any probation without speaking my mind in some manner. We were past the point of politeness at this moment.

David delivered my cider with barely a word and returned to whatever void he crawled from. I spent the time looking at the clock and trying to keep myself entertained. I wondered if there were any Christmas festivities going on now. I could imagine Elijah and his own brood trying to keep matters normal. After all Maryanne removed the children from the room before matters came to blows. I couldn't imagine Elijah telling his little ones about how Uncle Grell nearly murdered Cousin Isaac at the dinner table. It was anyone's guess what Matthew's bloodline was doing. If Isaac died, I was sure I would hear about it though much time was passing without any word.

It was growing closer to 9 and David had not yet returned. A part of me was relieved nothing was urgent yet a part of me was becoming slightly nervous at the backstage goings on. If the children had indeed commenced with their caroling and cakes, they would be going to bed by now or were allowed to stay up later in the spirit of the holiday. If Matthew waited until they were tucked into their beds before summoning me for my execution, I could be waiting for a few more hours. This was a comfortable cell with plenty of amenities, I had little to complain about.

I had just looked at the clock turn to quarter before 10 when I finally heard the knock at my door. I bade my visitor to enter, seeing David step in as I expected.

"The baron wishes to speak with you, sir," he said.

I rose from my seat and collected my ribbon from the table, asking David to wait a moment as I tied my hair back. It couldn't hurt to look a bit more put together, perhaps it would make me look less of a hooligan in Matthew's eyes though I wasn't holding my breath. At last David lead me out for that final death march. I buttoned my coat and tried to make myself look a bit more presentable, though it was more a source of distraction than anything.

No one was in the hallway, not even any servants. I did not hear any voices of family members either, Matthew probably wanted to clear the way. It would been more amusing if he lined up the family to jeer and throw rotten vegetables at me, though I knew he lacked such humor. Instead it was a quiet, unnerving march toward Matthew's main office. I remembered a similar march last year after I introduced that bitch Emily's head to the wall, I was sure Matthew remember the occasion as well.

At last we reached the oak doors to Matthew's office. David knocked and a voice from inside said "enter." I wondered if Matthew was alone or if he assembled a whole team to rip me apart. David opened the door and lead me in. Matthew was in fact alone, I saw no one else in his office. He sat with his hands folded on the desk avoiding any eye contact, the scowl etched into his face. He looked like one of those frowning puppets, pointed nose and all. I tried to wipe this image from my head quickly lest it cause a reaction that would hurt my case.

Matthew finally turned his gaze at me with a particularly loving glare before looking at David.

"That will be all, David," Matthew said.

David bowed and walked from the door as usual, gently closing it behind him. Matthew and I were alone at last to the lovely music of strained silence. He cast a pleasant brotherly glare on me, those ice blue eyes burning through my soul. I felt so loved. I wanted to give a little smile back, though my serious visage remained; I wasn't going to stand here like a child being scolded.

"This has become a rather familiar sight," he said at last. "You standing before me as calm as can be just a few hours after spilling someone's blood in my house. Me sitting here just wondering what the bloody hell to do with you. I recall telling you last time that there would not be another occasion of this, and yet here we are again. My position has grown a bit more complicated, Grell. You didn't just rough up another servant, you didn't just take out your ill temper on a member of the staff. No, instead you proceeded to assault your own nephew; the heir to this title, company, and these lands; my eldest son. I watched your hands wrap around the neck of my firstborn son, that tiny hand that clasped my finger after his birth now had a knife go through it wielded by you."

I doubted he would dirty such clean hands allowing an infant's spit-covered grasp, though it made for a lovely story.

"I am not too proud to say I had every mind to chase you down and return the favor, though I am a reasonable man in the face of such an insult. I cannot say the same about a certain individual before me. Instead I watched after my boy, I stood by his side in his moment of pain."

Elijah had a different story, though now wasn't the time to interrupt Matthew's passionate tale.

"It warms my heart report he was spared of serious injury thanks to the efforts of those who pulled you off. Dr. Adler said you could have crushed his windpipe if allowed a few more seconds. Instead his neck is blotched with hideous bruises, though he is speaking and breathing without impediment. The good doctor also said your attack with the knife was rather clumsy, it broke a bone and only did surface damage. He just needed to reset it and give him a few stitches. You could have maimed his hand, you could have crippled it, you could have cut blood vessels and caused him to bleed to death. You are rather fortunate Grell Sutcliff. If his injuries were any worse, I do not wan to think on what considerations I would be making for you. Though I assure you I have made many in the past few hours. Before I say anything, I will give you one chance to speak for yourself if you so choose."

He paused and fixed his gaze on me. He was giving me the floor, I would be foolish not to take advantage of it.

"I can say nothing in defense of my actions," I said. "There was no excuse for what I did. I lost control of my temper and committed acts I deeply regret. You have my sincerest apologies for that. However, if I may speak plainly, Isaac's speech was also reprehensible. There was no excuse for how he insulted me in front of our family."

Matthew made no reaction, he just sat there with the same glare.

"I have my faults, I admit them freely. I understand if there is little trust for me and I understand I have much to prove. However I will not tolerate such insults, no matter whose lips they come from whether to my face or behind my back. I may be a young man with much to prove, but I am still a man of this family and I would appreciate a little respect. I accept all responsibility and punishment for my actions toward Isaac, though I ask that similar considerations be made for Isaac for his rudeness."

It felt good saying all that, it felt good having it all out at last. Perhaps if I had said something sooner we could have spared that little spectacle, but then maybe no one would listen to me unless I gave them reason to. Perhaps something truly good did come out of all this, though that would depend on Matthew's next words. Matthew stared at me for a few more seconds before looking down at his desk.

"I am inclined to agree with you on that matter," Matthew said. "I have already had words with Isaac on his own ungentlemanly behavior. Though I also recall you egging him on and insulting him in a similar fashion."

"I was merely encouraging him to speak plainly," I said. "He was already making a fool of himself toward me. I could have bade him to hold, though he insulted me far enough couldn't simply stay quiet. Was I egging him on? Perhaps and yes it was improper behavior. Though his tirade seemed rather complete. I doubt he needed too much encouragement from me."

"However we will never know for you remained far from quiet," Matthew said. "As I said, I have had rather strong words with my son about his decorum; though I believe he has been punished enough for his rudeness. If you remained a gentleman back there, I would have had him apologize to you personally. However I consider you two more than even now. I would like you to apologize to him for your behavior, though he despises the thought of being under the same roof with you let alone within sight. I will not ask for anything direct though I require you to write an apology for him."

"Though what of you, brother," I said. "If Isaac's words indeed included direct quotes from your lips, I would appreciate some explanation if not formal apologies as well. As I said, I will not be insulted so by anyone, including my brothers."

Matthew stared at me with the same even expression, his hands tightening a little on his desk.

"Isaac's words were gross exaggerations and I have spoken to him about this as well," Matthew said, his tone straining. "I cannot deny I told him that this position would be an ideal way for you to become a productive man of society. I did inform him in the barest terms of your conflict with your friends and how we did decide King's Crest was not the appropriate environment for you. I am sure you cannot take quarrel with any of this."

"No sir," I said.

I silently called bollocks on this story. Matthew was playing something down, though at least he was reading me the censored version as opposed to dismissing my accusation entirely.

"He took what I told him and wrote the rest of the story," he said. "Whether it was a gross misinterpretation or an intentional series of falsehoods I do not know. Though it was rather successful in raising your temper to explosion. I have already had a talk with him about the dangers of provoking people, though in that same vein you have to watch how easily you are provoked. You have a dreadful temper, Grell, and that has only lead to destruction. If you allow it to go out of control in this manner, the consequences will be grave."

"I understand sir," I said. "I regret it was a lesson that was reinforced in this manner. It is one I promise I will not forget."

"I should hope you won't. I did not have very kind words for you, Grell. However your brothers have spoken to me at great length these past few hours and defended you rather aggressively. You owe them much."

Elijah didn't feed me to the wolves, perhaps he could be trusted a bit more. Apparently Jacob spoke in my favor as well, it was a pleasant development.

"As hard as this may be to believe, I feel I am worthy of another chance," I said. "I appreciate any defense I have received and I assure you I will not squander such faith."

"I will hold you to your word, for that is the only chance you have left. You will return to London tomorrow with Jacob, I will not have you in this house another night with the circumstances as they are. You will return to your position and your apartment as usual, there will be no changes in these respects."

I allowed myself a rather quiet sigh of relief.

"However Jacob will be tasked with keeping a closer eye on you."

Hardly a surprise, aggravating yes though understandable. I was sure Jacob was negotiable as to the terms, perhaps he was a bit more reasonable than for which I had given him credit.

"You will also have regular visits with a tutor right at the turn of the year and you will begin the process of applying for university. That has always been part of our agreement, though I am enforcing that a little more strictly now. You will not be going to Hamburg this spring, as I would rather you were not distracted from your work and your studies."

I had looked forward to that trip, though was hardly heartbroken. I wondered if this had anything to do with my actions in Paris as well, though everything I had done tonight provided its own decent reason.

"You have more than proven yourself a capable and responsible man, for that I am willing to let you continue and call this an isolated incident. Any repeat performances will cost you dearly. We have granted you many privileges and all those can be taken away; your apartment, your salary, your social time, your position, everything. Just one more infraction, just one more loss of temper and any or all of those can be removed from you in the blink of an eye. Should your behavior become truly problematic, the only university you will be attending is Woolwich. Am I making myself perfectly clear, Grell Sutcliff?"

Woolwich, as in the Royal Military Academy Woolwich. At least I knew what the ultimatum looked like.

"Crystal clear, sir," I said. "I intend to do everything I can to restore your faith."

"You had best not disappoint me, your brothers, or anyone in this family ever again. The carriage is leaving around 9 tomorrow morning, I suggest you return to your room and sleep. Now get out of my sight."

"Yes sir," I said.

I bowed, Matthew gave me one more glance and I turned around and left his study. I had a bit of a spring in my step when walking down the hall. I was returning to London tomorrow to everything as it had been. Perhaps there would be a few more restrictions placed on me, though nothing I couldn't handle. Not to mention I finally had the chance to give Matthew an earful, his own words about his son's behavior provided more than a little validation. Perhaps this night wasn't entirely wasted.

Matthew's clock read a little past 10 when I left. No one else was in the hallway, I guessed most of the house had gone to bed by now. It had been a rather exciting day, everyone must have been exhausted. I reached the hallway leading to my room when David approached me. He had better have something good to say, I was in no mood for nonsense.

"Master Grell, Master Jacob wishes to speak with you as well," David said.

Bloody Christ.

"He bade me to find you after your conversation with his lordship was finished," David said.

I nodded, may as well find out what he wanted. Apparently he defended me to Matthew, perhaps it was only natural he wanted to get his own digs in. I fell into step next to David. I really had nothing to fear at this point, Matthew already gave me my scolding, I couldn't imagine Jacob trying anything over his head. Matthew seemed like more the disciplinarian, though perhaps Jacob had something different in mind.

I wasn't entirely comfortable with walking through the house lest I run into someone and commence an awkward situation. I really wasn't in the mood for another lecture. Fortunately the manor was dead silent, or perhaps someone had seen me and chose to take another hallway.

Our journey ended at the downstairs lounge. It was a nice removed place allowing for private conversation. David opened the door and lead me in. Jacob was sitting on a couch, a decanter of scotch and two glasses were set up on the table in front of him.

"Thank you, David, that will be all," Jacob said.

David bowed and left as usual, closing the door behind him. Jacob looked up at me with a relaxed smile.

"Have a seat," he said. "And you can relax, you've been lectured enough today. Let's have a drink and salvage what's left of this Christmas."

I let out a clearing breath and took a seat on the couch across from him. Jacob opened the crystal decanter and poured us both generous glasses. He then raised his and I did the same.

"To Christmas, to the warmth of family as it is, and to retaining as much sanity as one can," he said.

"Cheers," I said.

We clinked glasses and took large gulps. How I longed for that burn down my throat and that sweet bitterness.

"I have a good idea what Matthew said to you," he said. "I did coax him a little."

"He told me you defended me. I owe you much."

"Be glad you left the room when you did, he was ready to kill you. Elijah and I talked him down, then Elijah went to speak with you and I talked some reason into the dearest baron."

"He was rather calm when I spoke to him."

"You're welcome."

I chuckled a bit at this and took a long sip.

"Isaac will be working for the Boreham office this summer," Jacob said, taking another sip.

"Bloody hell, you really turned Matthew around."

"I didn't spare any words with him; I said 'Perhaps if you stop treating the younger men in your family like children, perhaps they will stop acting like them.'"

I raised my glass with a little smirk of self-defeat.

"This will come with the condition that Isaac is to refrain from lashing his tongue or else remain in his self-imposed nursery," Jacob said. "That little condition was my making. Whether Matthew will see it my way or not is a different matter."

"He told me he had a few words with little Isaac about his own decorum."

"Alas I had to talk him into seeing reality. I could tell he was hardly amused at Isaac's outburst."

"Though when his idiot brother does something rash, he looks a little more like an angel."

Jacob paused for a moment and sipped his glass.

"You're not an idiot, Grell; no one thinks so. And I assure you no one was of the opinion that you were a hooligan or a malcontent. Isaac was running his mouth."

Naturally; hooligans are low class peasants. It was an inappropriate term for a noble regardless of his actions. Malcontent was a little strong, though I put nothing past anyone.

"Though I know it will take some effort to convince you of this," Jacob said. "Tell me honestly, brother, do you indeed hate all of us?"

It was a forward question, though this had been a night of honesty.

"The thought has crossed my mind many times," I said. "I have borne little trust, I am sure you can understand why."

"I can," he said without pause. "We have given you little reason to. Here we are demanding the ability to trust you, but you have yet to trust us. That is a major flaw on our parts and as we have seen tonight it has cost us dearly. We are a family, mutual trust is vital, though we need to make as much of an effort as you do."

I couldn't tell if he was throwing me a bone or a life preserver.

"And now some family member speaks words of betrayal. Grell I do not condone what you did, though I sympathize with your actions. The trick is to find different ways to work with your anger; it is a learned skill, though anyone's mettle would be tested so with such words."

I felt slightly relieved. I wasn't getting a lecture, instead I was receiving some validation.

"Matthew said I was going to pay a little closer attention to your actions. My intention is not to act as your chaperone, but there are clearly walls between us that need to be broken down. That will be my aim. I want you to trust me a bit more, speak a little more freely with me, see me as a comrade and not a hulking authority."

I wasn't overly fond of the prospect, though perhaps I had judged Jacob a little too harshly. Would I ever completely trust him? Unlikely, though I saw some room for openness. Our current state was rather uncomfortable, perhaps that could indeed be remedied.

"I would like that very much," I said. "I do apologize for the inconvenience this has cost you."

He snickered and took a sip from his glass.

"What inconvenience?" he mumbled from behind his glass.

I chuckled and raised my glass before taking a sip.

"Tomorrow we will return to London, to our normal lives aside from this little charade," Jacob said. "You will have Friday off through the weekend, get some rest after this nonsense. We will return to work on Monday then Tuesday. Then Tuesday night we will travel to the Phantomhive manor a little ways out of the city and ring in the New Year."

I gave out a wicked cackle, Jacob smiled wide and winked.

"To an unspoiled holiday," I said raising my glass.

"Here here," Jacob said with a tip of his.


	25. Part 25

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 25**

_To Mr. Isaac W.A. Sutcliff:_

_I feel it is incumbent upon me to express my sincerest apologies for my conduct on Christmas night. There was no reasonable explanation for my actions, as they were most reprehensible. I am ashamed and regretful for my conduct and give you my most humble apologies. I ask that you find it in your heart to forgive me, though I will understand if you consider such acts were unforgivable. I pray for your swift recovery and wish you all the best._

_Sincerely,_

_Grell N. Sutcliff_

Matthew did order me to write an apology to my dearest nephew. It was not the tallest order on his list and I doubted he would have wanted me to stick around long enough to compose it, but it was a reasonable request. I was still a gentleman and I could show responsibility for my actions.

Little Isaac would probably toss it into a fire, possibly chanting curses over it. Or perhaps he would frame it and put it on his wall as a reminder of his hatred for me. Ten or twenty years from now when the title was in his hot little hands, he would probably shove it in my face before having me killed or dumped on the street without a penny. Or perhaps he would actually respect its intentions and grant me forgiveness like a good Christian.

He could do whatever he felt, I could care less about any of it. As Lady Macbeth said, "Things without all remedy should be without regard. What's done is done."

I placed it in an envelope, writing "To The Honble. Isaac W.A. Sutcliff." I was just about to seal it when I heard the knock on the door. I bade whoever was there to enter as I sealed the envelope. David walked in as expected followed by Simon who was here to collect my bag. I snuffed the candle and packed my seal and wax, rising from my desk to greet David.

"The carriage is ready, sir," he said.

"Thank you, David," I said.

Simon entered and took my bag as David lead me from my room. For some reason I took a lingering look back at my old room. This has been my nursery then the room of an older boy then the room of a young man. I doubted I would ever see this room again, as I doubted I would ever set foot in this manor. I walked from the room and closed the door with no other looks back. David led me through the hallway in which I had traversed through my life. This sentimentality was not necessarily melancholy, if I never returned to this bloody place and this bloody family it would be the best for all of us.

"David, would you be so kind and deliver this to Isaac once I leave?" I said, raising the envelope.

"Certainly, sir," he said, taking the letter and placing it in his coat pocket.

"Much appreciated."

I was curious if anyone would be joining me for my march down the hallway, whether to see me off with smiles and handshakes or spit upon me and curse me out. Alas it was quiet the whole walk. The hallways were empty, not just of members of the household but servants as well. The easier explanation was that everyone was elsewhere, the more interesting explanation was that everyone was steering clear of me. Word of last night had to have spread amongst the staff by now, it wouldn't be hard to learn when I was leaving and make a point of not being there.

I was curious if any members of my family would see me off. Elijah and brood maybe, but I couldn't see Matthew or his boys leaving their chambers until I was well gone. Though maybe someone had a last minute surprise for me, maybe I was going to receive the same kind of going-away party that I received my last night at King's Crest. These were children and an overweight middle-aged man; I did not doubt my own abilities. If I had to finish the job with one of them I would gladly do so. I didn't give a damn what happened to me from here on.

Our walk finally lead to the main lobby. I could hear Jacob speaking with Elijah, but no other voices. Apparently Elijah wanted to see me off, but perhaps the firing squad was waiting quietly around the corner. We turned the corner and it was indeed merely Jacob and Elijah standing there chatting. They turned their attentions to me with their usual cheery (and likely forced) smiles.

"Are you ready to be off?" Jacob said.

"Quite, I can't wait to be back in London," I said.

Elijah smiled a little wider and took a few steps closer to me.

"I told the little ones about your pressing business in London that required your departure," he said with a little wink.

I smiled back. I was right.

"I appreciate it," I said.

"They regret not being able to see you off, but they stayed up past midnight eating pudding and singing carols," Elijah said. "I'm the only one in my household awake at present because I wanted to properly see you off."

"Sounds like you had a good Christmas."

"Well I certainly hope you have a good Boxing Day and a happy New Year."

Elijah put out his hand and I took it. He pulled me into a loose embrace and patted my back.

"Take care of yourself, brother," he said.

"I will, you have my word," I said.

Elijah pulled back and gave my hand one last shake before letting go.

"Let us not be strangers, let's write to each other," he said.

I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of receiving regular correspondence from Elijah, but he was proving himself a somewhat decent ally. I couldn't hurt to humor him a little, at least for a while.

"Certainly, I would like that very much," I said.

Elijah walked us out to the carriage to see us off properly. Our bags were loaded, it was time to leave this ruddy place and the moment couldn't come soon enough. I boarded and Jacob took his seat across from me before the door closed at last.

"God be with you and all that you do, brothers," Elijah said as the carriage took off.

I simply waved at him and watched him go back into the manor. I watched the manor get smaller and smaller against the snow until it was gone at last. How I never wanted to be back there again.

It was dead quiet between Jacob and myself, almost suspiciously so. Usually he was chatting about something, even if he was to deliver me some bad news. Last night wasn't exactly a normal evening for either of us, but he was all smiles last I saw him. Perhaps the idea of being in a carriage for the next several hours with a raving lunatic was a little more unnerving then being in a large, comfortable manse with one surrounded by other people.

"That was good of Elijah to see us off like that," Jacob said.

I nodded.

"He is a good man," I said.

"That he is," Jacob said. "Very forgiving, very reasonable, always wanting to see the absolute good in people."

His tone was kindly, though there was this tiny edge in his voice. I couldn't tell if Jacob were speaking well of Elijah or mocking him, though my cynicism was on high at the moment.

"Not to mention he cares much for you," Jacob said. "It is good to have people like that in your life."

I nodded, knowing what direction he was going in. Another tense pause settled between us. He was going to stay something I just knew it.

"Matthew told me he practically made it an order for the rest of his clan to stay away from you this morning," Jacob said.

"Because they'd probably string me up if given the opportunity," I said. "Can't say as though I blame them."

"That was the long and short of it in so many words."

His gaze fell directly on me. Here was where the serious talk was to begin.

"To say he is still cross with you would be a significant understatement," Jacob said. "He told me something to the effect of 'I am finished with him.'"

That didn't sound very promising, though none of his words carried any weight unless they were delivered to me in person.

"What exactly does that mean for me now?" I said.

"Nothing more than was discussed last night, though I must be honest with you; he doesn't entirely approve of the arrangement made," Jacob said. "He was raving pretty loudly this morning; sputtering about how he should have gotten the law involved, or at least cut you off from the family. I talked a little more reason in him and he calmed down a bit. This is still a very serious situation, Grell; don't think for a moment this is all swept under the rug."

I grimaced a little and propped my elbow against the window, leaning my chin into my hand. I knew this couldn't be that simple. Something else was lurking under the surface; it might have let me go once but it was still there lying in wait. The question that unnerved me was why didn't Matthew do anything? He was the baron after all, he was the head of the family and I nearly killed his eldest son. He could have had me executed on site with absolute impunity, instead he let me go with a slap on the wrist whilst still sputtering about how much of a villain I was.

There was an answer to this: "I talked some reason into him." I was liking this situation less and less. Elijah likely plead for my reprieve like the good preacher he was. What of Jacob? He wasn't doing this for altruism, that was for damn sure. He was probably doing this out of personal interest; what would happen if he lost an important worker? In that case why couldn't he just hire another drone with a more stable temper for a lesser salary? They wanted to keep Sutcliff Agriculture with as many Sutcliff's as they could, though I was more a liability to the family name and he knew that. Something wasn't matching up somewhere. Or perhaps his own interest was for my well-being; perhaps Jacob actually did give a damn about me and was looking out for his brother. It was a charming thought, but did it have some truths?

"I appreciate every word in my defense, Jacob; especially given Matthew's feelings on the whole matter," I said.

"You can show your full appreciation for what Elijah and I have done by keeping your wits about you," Jacob said. "I know you're not a raging beast, Grell, and I know what provoked you. In fact I told Matthew if Isaac were but a few years older and shot his mouth off like that, the recipient of his tirade would have the right to challenge him. However…"

"I do have a bit of a temper," I said with a nod.

Jacob nodded back with a grimace.

"I'm not proud of it and I have been trying to control it," I said.

"And you have done quite well, though you need to take a firmer grasp of it in light of recent events. Matthew isn't going to tolerate another slip-up, even the smallest one; you had best take greater care with yourself."

I nodded. The request was simple enough. Jacob wasn't lecturing me like a schoolboy, he was talking to me like a concerned friend and that did mean much.

"The last thing I want is to make a repeat performance and I understand the graveness of such an action," I said.

Another stiff pause settled in. There was more to this.

"Matthew said rather bluntly that he wants nothing to do with you," Jacob said. "He said if I truly thought you were that worthy, then you would be my full responsibility. He doesn't want to hear a word about you or from you. If any word came back to him of any ill conduct, then he would take you off my hands and do with you what he truly wishes. That is how grave this is, brother."

That sounded a bit ominous. That was far from the systematic punishments Matthew was threatening last night, or rather it would be every single threat rolled into one fell swoop. If Matthew felt that strongly about me, great care would be needed. But the question was who would be the one reporting my behavior?

"I assume it would be your responsibility then to report any lapses in judgment to dearest brother," I said, unable to contain the strain in my voice.

Jacob sighed hard and leaned forward in his seat.

"I know what you're getting at," Jacob said. "But the answer is actually no. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I don't want there to be any secrets between us. Secrets have done enough damage, I'd rather be truthful with you under the circumstances."

I highly doubted Jacob would keep everything in the open, but I would welcome selective truths.

"Matthew doesn't want any reports from me," Jacob said. "He said he assumes that if there are no reports all is well and he can, and these are his words, continue pretending you don't exist. If he gets any reports from a third party — a constable, a teacher, a local you offend — that is when he will take action."

"So you will be giving him no reports at all," I said.

"Not necessarily. I will still give him the occasional update but I will not be reporting your behavior. You have no reason to be wary of me in this respect, in fact his gives the both of us a little more breathing room in general; a little more autonomy. He asked me to keep a closer eye on you, monitor your actions a bit more. It is clear this means he wants me to take more responsibility for you in his self-imposed absence, though it's not as if you have out of my responsibility regardless."

"If I understand correctly, he seems to think the lack of his involvement will mean I am watched less," I said.

"Essentially, though as we both know he has not been the one keeping regular contact with you," Jacob said. "No offense to our dear brother, but this is a rather typical perspective on his part and an order that means little more than what has been in place. I didn't tell you this in the manor for obvious reasons, but I assure you little will change in out arrangement. If I see something going on with you, I will address it but I am not bound to report it to Matthew. Matthew has made his decision and he needs to live with that. This doesn't mean, though, that Matthew will not learn of any major indiscretions on your part, as I have said. Autonomy does not mean impunity."

Matthew was apparently stepping off. I couldn't say I was disappointed with such a turn of events, in fact I was relieved by the semantics according to Jacob. I couldn't imagine Jacob was disappointed with this either, quite the opposite. I could only think back to that conversation I overheard between Matthew and Jacob on Christmas Eve; Matthew clearly did not have any nice opinions about my conduct in London, despite all Jacob's reassurances. He likely did not have any nice opinions about me at all if there was any ring of truth to Isaac's ranting, but that was past tense.

Matthew did not like my conduct in London and Jacob was naturally defending it. Jacob was a scheming libertine who did little to hide his sins. Matthew was a boor maintaining airs of self-righteous sophistication, though he was clearly a mouse behind a roar. Matthew wanted me to be more like him for the sole purpose of keeping up appearances, though my interests were more similar to Jacob's. Matthew didn't give a damn what happened to me, but the idea of Jacob giving me free rein must have terrified him; it went against his order, or perhaps gave his next younger brother an advantage over him. Now I offended Matthew so grievously he was washing his hands of me.

Jacob could now have his talented little drone and companion in vice all to himself without any outside meddling. I played right into his hands, though this was my own doing. As tempting as it would be to think that he coached Isaac to let loose his words on me, that thought was more than a bit silly. I doubted Jacob wanted to put me in that much of a dangerous situation if I were that valuable. Jacob merely did damage control. Not only did he preserve a toy, but he managed to keep it without ever having to share it. Maybe this was why Jacob was suddenly so interested in openness between us; he wanted to find better ways to utilize his plaything better now that I was all his. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but I infinitely preferred Jacob's brand of fun to Matthew's. Jacob had proven himself reasonable, even if he was untrustworthy.

This autonomy did come with a price, though only if the one granting it with a huff intended to enforce his mandates. It carried the threat of dire consequences for me, but then what Matthew didn't know couldn't hurt him. However, this did mean Jacob had a bit more leverage over me. If he found out I was doing something even he didn't like, he could just slip a little information to the right people to ruin me. Even if he had tolerated something for a long time, if I crossed him or disobeyed him in any way now the trap could spring.

"I shall take heed of that without question," I said. "I love Matthew dearly and I am truly saddened by his words. However, I cannot mourn my losses only learn from them. If more autonomy comes from this, then I shall reap something good from an ill situation. Hopefully this will provide me with an opportunity to do well by him. I would rather take advantage of this autonomy and do something good with it rather than put it in jeopardy."

Jacob looked at me and smiled. He could see right bloody through me. I could only smile back.

"Spoken like a true gentleman," he said, sarcasm practically dripping from his voice.

"It's only proper," I said.

"There is no need to mince words with me, Grell. You're bloody glad to have him off your tail. I'm sure as Christ not going to report anything back to him, you may as well say it."

I smiled a bit wider.

"In truth, I bloody well am," I said.

"That's more like it," Jacob said, reclining in his seat. "I love our dear brother as well, however he bears a different perspective than you or I. I am content with us going about our respective businesses without interference, though I must say I wish it were under different circumstances as I am sure you do as well."

"Completely," I said with a sigh. "Though I am happy you and I share a perspective on this."

"There is a lot we have in common, Grell. This is why I wish for us to be more open with each other. We can be friends, you don't need to suppress yourself around me."

I smirked a little in response.

"And I would welcome that," I said.

Jacob smiled and nodded.

"Let's leave that dreadful business alone shall we," he said.

He started a conversation about some light topic, breaking any more ice between us to just get us comfortably talking. Eventually I did loosen up a little. Perhaps I didn't need to be so stiff with him. I wasn't taking any eyes off him, but caution didn't have to mean tension.

Conversation drifted off a bit into napping and a bit of reading. At last we were on familiar roads. I made a point to stay awake so I could behold such sights for sore eyes. The spires and rooftops of London appeared in the distance, welcoming me home after a tumultuous journey. How my eyes embraced them, how I wanted to practically kiss the ground the moment we entered the city. It had been just two days but two days too many. I wanted to settle back into normality, perhaps savor what I almost lost due to my own stupidity.

London was the bustle it always is, so much nicer compared to the dead quiet of Essex. We entered Westminster and I knew my own home was close, I also knew I would finally be free of Jacob's presence. As much as I did want to grow warmer to his company, at the moment I wanted to be free of anyone who shared my blood. I had more family time than I ever wanted and now I needed to purge the bile.

I was mentally cheering when we finally stopped in front of Jacob's apartment. I knew there would be some even pithier farewells, though I was willing to endure them in order to finally get him out of my presence for a few days.

"I'm sure you can't wait to be rid of me," Jacob said. "Though in all honesty I couldn't blame you. No offense but I can't wait for some alone time myself."

The chuckle that came out of me was actually organic. This was an unexpected speech, but we were being more open with each other.

"You speak truths, though in the friendliest way possible," I said.

"Of course," he said with a laugh.

Simon opened the door and Jacob rose from his seat.

"We'll be going to work at the usual time on Monday," Jacob said. "I will give you all the details for the party on Tuesday. In the meantime, get as much rest as you can."

He left the carriage, then put out his hand. I took it and he shook it firmly.

"Better things will come, brother, trust in that," he said.

"I will," I said. "Thank you for everything."

He gave one last smile and let go of my hand.

"Take care of yourself, Grell," he said, turning away from the carriage.

Simon appeared with Jacob's bags in hand.

"I will be back out soon, sir," Simon said.

"Thank you," I said.

Simon closed the door and I watched as he and Jacob entered the building. I breathed a heaving sigh of relief. At last I was free from all of the buggers. Simon emerged a few minutes later and took me back to my own familiar territory. I practically wanted to leap from the carriage the moment the building came into view. I was so desperate to be home.

At last we stopped. Simon opened the door and I followed him into the building as he carried my bags up. How wonderful it was to see my apartment again. It felt as if I had been away for eons. Matthew's words lingered in my head: this was a privilege and it could be taken away rather easily. Matthew's name was on the lease and the family money was paying the rent.

Everything was in the hands of a man who immensely disliked me, who could snatch away my freedoms on a whim; it was a terrifying thought. This was supposed to be encouragement for me to walk the straight and narrow. I read the message loud and clear, though I was made more aware of how unbalanced my situation was. My job, my finances, my home, all of these were in the hands of untrustworthy individuals who were either looking for the first reason to cart me off or using me for their own purposes.

Simon dropped off my bags, I gave him a crown as a tip for his troubles. I was in a bit of a generous mood. He left with pleasantries and I was finally alone in my apartment. The clock read close to 2:30. Now was a good time for some napping, but I would probably want to go out later. Tomorrow I would probably find Colin, let him know it was unlikely I would make rehearsal for Wednesday due to a work commitment, most of all I just wanted to see some familiar faces.

I had a separate life in London away from my family and all their expectations and obligations, though even that one would be obliterated if I stepped a toe out of line. This whole situation was plain ridiculous. I poured myself a glass of brandy and practically threw myself into my couch. I inhaled the aroma of the spirit then took a large gulp, savoring the burn down my throat and the sweetness across my tongue. I sipped repeatedly, savoring every single drop. I did not want to get completely wasted, I did want to be sober enough to get some fresh air later and more appropriately pissed later tonight. This was good time to relax and reflect on some rather important things.

The last thing I wanted to do was get myself in even more trouble than I already had. I had become a master of avoiding the eyes of authority, though one loss of cool could undo all of that. I didn't necessarily consider myself powder keg easily sparked, though perhaps I needed to take that into account. Or rather perhaps I needed to get myself in a safer situation. What would happen should I blow off again? Would I allow myself to be carted off to military school or worse? Would I have to live with this threat over me, would I become as docile as a kitten in response? What If I did and Matthew decided to ruin me regardless? I had made some enemies in my family, some rather powerful enemies who could subject my life to their whims.

I couldn't allow this; it was as plain as day to me now.

I would continue my work, my social life, work toward university as was expected of me. I had no reason not to continue with measures to better my life. I did need to start seriously thinking of the alternative. The thought had gone through my mind many times since coming to London, though this time I needed to take some serious steps. I needed to find my own autonomy; I needed to come up with an escape plan. I needed to be ready to save my own life.


	26. Part 26

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 26**

I wasn't entirely enthusiastic about returning to the routine on Monday. I had rather enjoyed myself over the weekend; if I wasn't enjoying my alone time I was in a pub or a gentlemen's club or at the theater with Colin and my actor friends.

We did enough rehearsing during our idle time that my absence on Wednesday was hardly an issue. I was all ready for Thursday night's return after the holiday break. "Romeo and Juliet" would officially wrap at the end of the month, Colin was now deciding between a few comedies. "The Taming of the Shrew" and "As You Like It" were at the top of his list, I personally would have been happy with either.

I would spend hours as Richard Morris with his commoner friends, then I would put on the costume of Grell Sutcliff and go rub elbows with a few rich drunks at some club somewhere. I had to say the switch-up amused the hell out of me. I actually realized how much fun it was to play all these different roles. The audience assumes you are the man you are playing onstage, who cares if you're wearing a mask; it's all about illusion anyway.

It was best to think on myself as a player with many roles than try to think on what I looked like underneath the façade, though my thoughts were turning to that very subject in light of recent events. Underneath I was an unruly boy disliked or pitied by his family; I was a ruffian who would fly in fits of uncontrollable rage, posing a danger to himself and those around him. I was an ox expected to do task after task; receiving treats when I did what was expected and lashes when I stumbled or jerked at my chains.

I was not content with this reality at all. I would rather be that traveling actor whose life is but the many stages on which he performs. I wanted to be a shadow; formless, adaptable, always taking a form subject to its whims. I wanted to be free of society, of expectations, of scruples, of morays, of all labels and titles. Not caring whose rules I was flouting…no I wanted to flout all rules. I wanted to go against every single writ and every form of propriety there was. I had broken so many laws, committed so many sins, done so many deeds to tarnish my "good" name, but why stop there?

This was my very definition of freedom; the realization alone was liberating. Perhaps this was a path laid out before me, the ultimate challenge; exist as a free soul in this moral, rigid world. Live without caring about who I pissed off. Charming words yes, though this would be a tall order for even me to accept. Perhaps a little mental prodding would do wonders. I couldn't help but think that perhaps this upcoming New Year's party would do well for some encouragement.

It could very well have been a stuffy assemblage of humorless men sipping wine and discussing politics, though Jacob's tone when mentioning this affair had been a bit giddy. Over the months since his summer gathering, I had spoken to Earl Phantomhive a few times and occasionally exchanged business correspondence with him in collaboration with Jacob. There had been a few teas, though nothing of the magnitude of that party. That event back in August was supposed to be a simple parlor gathering, but the guest list made it a little more interesting. I could only imagine what the crowd at an all-night New Year's party would be like, though it was best to be prepared for everything.

I was still going to get blasted that night, I didn't care whose sensibilities I offended. Perhaps this would be a good way to test Jacob's promise that he was reporting nothing back to our dearest brother, though I knew this was a matter best left untested. Then again I doubted that Jacob intended to remain completely on his best behavior at this party, if he was I doubted he would be as enthusiastic about it as he seemed.

All this floated through my mind when I rose Monday morning and readied myself for work. I must admit I was somewhat looking forward to returning to the routine. All it takes is a few off moments in the course of one's week to create a desire for the mundane, for a feeling or normality. This was also normality that resulted from intense negotiations within my family after my grand bungle, perhaps it would be best to savor this as a great gain. I did give Jacob a particularly warm greeting in the carriage instead of my usual nod, may as well try to be a bit warmer to him.

Fate rewarded my mirth with Jacob giving me some information on the next night's gathering.

"We'll be leaving for the earl's manor at the end of the work day, make sure you bring any sundries with you that morning," Jacob said. "His manor is about an hour to two hour-long ride from the city depending on the roads. I spoke with his lordship over the weekend, oh we're going to have some fun in store for us. This affair is for gentleman guests only. He said he recently received a variety of exotic spirits in a recent shipment. Though I believe the piece de resistance is the entertainment. He has invited a rather exclusive troupe of Chinese dancers to perform; all gorgeous women. I hear they are available for a more private showing for a reasonable fee. Make sure you have some coin on you. Though if you'd prefer something good and English, there will be some locally grown refreshment there as well."

I was certainly liking the sound of this.

"I might want to do some sampling, I can't say I've had the pleasure of company from the Orient before," I said.

"Well you will have your opportunity," Jacob said. "I admit I enjoy a little foreign experience from time to time; as long as she's washed."

My best response was a dirty chuckle. Oh Jacob, such a man of the world you are. Your humanity is just overwhelming.

Aside from my brother's ever-so charming commentary, this conversation put me in a good mood going forth with my day. We were in for some delicious mayhem Tuesday night. As intrigued as I was about bedding some exotic Chinese dancer girl, the phrase "gentleman guests only" was whetting my palate a bit more.

It was a pursuit that could be dangerous, though what if there truly were handsome, cultured gentlemen there of like mind? No one would notice two gents with glasses in hand entering a study to discuss business and politics in private. I wasn't entirely making this a goal, but merely a subject of private fact-finding. Even if I did find any like-minded men, everyone was wide open for blackmail and selective exposure. If I bedded a prince or a duke, he could point at me and cry "sodomite" and see to my demise while no one dare suspect him of anything.

The threat of prosecution for my predilections no longer scared me. If a night of bliss with some handsome men earned me prison, torture, and a noose, then I would count it a happy end. Then there was the lovely impact this would have on Matthew and the rest of the clan. Thanks to my actions on Christmas, they considered me persona non grata regardless. Why not leave this world and drag their reputations along with me. It would be such a grand scandal. The younger generation would have to clean up after the mess though over time they could restore the reputation of the Sutcliff barony through old fashioned respectability. Fewer profits and fewer arse-lickers could do them some good. Perhaps this was a life sacrifice that would have great benefit, though I had no intention of shuffling off just yet. I'd go when the Reaper was good and ready to take me.

"Enjoy what little time you have to the fullest Mr. Sutcliff. After all we are only here for a short while."

Speaking of which, I wondered if that nutter would be at the party too. It was more than likely; sod it, I really didn't care. Perhaps a few drinks and some time discussing philosophy would show me he was just an average bloke. I needed to see this person while not under a haze of drink and nerves. He was but a passing thought in general and merely a insignificant detail for the promised fun.

I settled back into the drudgery of work, occasionally thinking on the promise of tomorrow's events to keep my mind occupied with something. By the end of the day my mind was rapt with images of naked noblemen; their pristine bodies soaking in steaming Roman baths with different combinations of men copulating all around the room. I had to stare intently at my schematic chart at one point lest my body betray my thoughts.

At last the end of the dreary day came and I was returning home. I actually got a couple extra outfits together right to have ready for when what I wore there was rendered unsalvageable. Though perhaps different gentlemen would prefer different looks on me.

I had my small trunk ready when Simon came knocking the next morning. He carried it to the carriage, saying my trunk would join Jacob's in a part of the office before he put them on top of the carriage for our trip to the Phantomhive manor. Our stop at Jacob's apartment also had Simon carrying out a small trunk with my brother following behind him. Jacob and I simply exchanged knowing glances. We were ready for this.

Work was sheer torture that day. I counted down the hours until 5 o'clock, then the minutes the closer it got. That last half hour was excruciating, but at last came that miraculous chime. I tried to keep from running out the building and instead kept pace with Jacob. We went out to see the carriage packed with our trunks, this was the official beginning.

The roads were busy as we left London, everyone assembling for their evening festivities. At last we passed down the main roads and watched the lights of the city grow dimmer. Jacob made an idle comment about how the roads to our destination were relatively smooth and well-traveled. Simon did have a musket at the ready should someone decide to interrupt our journey.

"On the subject of rough characters, I did want to give you a little advice for the occasion," Jacob said. "You are aware of the company Earl Phantomhive keeps, well what you saw last summer was a small collection compared to what you will see at his fuller events. More people will mean a wider group of individuals, which will mean a bit more rowdiness and a higher concentration of aforementioned rougher characters. We are talking about men of the underworld."

"And I am just a pristine little veal and hence a potential target for mischief," I said.

"In so many words, to put it bluntly," Jacob said. "Now this doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy yourself to the fullest, no sir. It does mean you need to mind yourself a bit more in this company. Watch who's around you, watch who you get too drunk around, don't get yourself into any dark corners. The last thing many of these men want to do is cause any trouble in the presence of the earl, though there might be some who want to accomplish just that."

"One may smile a smile and be a villain," I said.

"Precisely."

"I shall heed your warning, the last thing I want is to be any man's toy."

In an adversarial sense that is.

It was the second hour of riding by my watch when at last Jacob said we were but a few minutes from the manor. Jacob still maintained his usual businesslike demeanor, but under the surface he was downright giddy. Within the next few minutes, the lights of a large building came into view. The carriage pulled down a long, pristine path lined with small lanterns.

The Phantomhive manor was indeed grand. It had almost a gothic castle feel to the architecture. I saw crenelations and spires along the roof above large arched windows. Jacob told me the building was constructed about five years ago with the earl strongly involved in the design and construction process. I was impressed with his style; I was too accustomed to safe, soft, country manors created by elderly wives with their lords nodding at the plans.

Our carriage was behind a few others in a queue. I recognized the Phantomhive's swarthy-skinned butler Joseph greeting all guests and helping with any bags and the occasional wrapped gift. Joseph was soon greeting us and helping Simon remove our small trunks from the roof of the carriage before escorting us into the building. Joseph said drinks were being served now, dinner was at 8, and the entertainers would be arriving around 9 or 9:30. This meant matters were starting with modesty and politeness. By 9 enough people would have had enough drinks to truly enjoy the Chinese dancer girls and the real party could start. Pacing oneself was always the wiser choice after all.

The interior was a bit more modern, a bit more of a men's study feel with all of the wooden paneling and earth-toned wallpaper. A good sized group of gentlemen had already assembled, all politely talking and sipping on whatever spirit they had in hands. I saw plenty of well-dressed nobles as well as the more garish to rustic attire of the more interesting guests. Polite conversation ranged from even speech to boisterous deliveries with equally boisterous laughter.

I stayed with Jacob for a moment, though floated into the crowd and eventually struck up some of my on conversations. I found myself rather intrigued by the more colorful, louder characters. I couldn't exactly relate to their conversations, though it would do me good to experience something outside my own gilded pen.

I took a better look around the main sitting room and the hallways as well. Dear God did the earl collect a bunch of weird shit. There were preserved animals, suits of armor, cases of exotic swords all scattered about. I even saw a skeleton in a glass case (or rather coffin) adorned in some sort of bead jewelry. This place was like a museum for odd adventurers, Earl Phantomhive could make some extra money charging admission.

Speaking of which, I heard a familiar booming voice behind me. I looked back to see the earl gracing our presences with a wide grin. He wore green coat with fur lining the collar, a white ruffled shirt, and brown embroidered vest, head covered in another long wig with curls. As always a sword rested on one side of his belt, a pistol on the other, both rather ornate with no attempts made at toning down their presence.

The earl made eye contact with me and practically charged over to me, taking my hand and shaking it firmly with a string of greetings. As initially off putting as this was at first, I was rather pleased to see someone tossing out over-politeness. After a few words with me, he moved along to his other guests, getting a glass of mead and making the rounds. He was certainly a jovial host. Any man who could keep a motley group as this one in line had earned my respect, though that skill would certainly be put to the test the later it got and the drunker everyone became.

I pulled aside for a moment to get more of a grip on the crowd. I counted around fifty gentlemen present by quarter to 8, this was likely the bulk of the guests. I stood, sipping my claret and observing while allowing my eyes to explore more of my surroundings. I saw a portrait of the earl and his wife on one wall, then one of the whole family, little Armand's portrait was next to it along with one of what I assumed was his younger brother and sister.

There was another portrait, one that immediately caught my eye as a piece of black fabric was draped over the top of the frame. I took a few steps forward for a closer look, seeing it positioned over a small shelf adorned with flowers. It was a young man with similar features to Earl Bram and little Armand. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he gave a small smile. A brass plate was placed on the lower frame: "Lord Gabriel A.F. Phantomhive. 6 Sept., 1754-23 Oct., 1773."

I looked back up at the painting for as moment. Was this…

"Gabriel, Earl Phantomhive's firstborn son," a voice said next to me.

The voice that immediately sent chills through my body, though I tried not to smirk in response. I glanced over, seeing that familiar bespectacled man with the gray-streaked hair in a single, long braid down his back. Even on this festive occasion, he still wore a black suit with a modest cravat. Arthur kept his gaze on the painting, I saw the corner of a hazel iris; of course I did. That green double-iris glowing with menace was simply the result of my drunken, paranoid mind.

"He was sickly from childhood, from what I recall," Arthur said, taking a sip of his wine. "He had some sort of spinal defect, then a heart condition. It was a miracle he lived to see 19 years. Bram and Miriam still love him so, though naturally they hold all their children dear."

He gave me a little sideways look that I can't say I was pleased with. If he had something to say to me I'd rather he have out with it now.

"They sound like truly loving parents," I said. "I have developed great respect for them, and their children I will add."

Arthur smiled a little.

"I believe we started on a bit of off footing, Mr. Sutcliff," he said, extending a hand.

I looked at his hand for a moment, then his attempt at a warm smile. I smirked a little myself and shook his hand.

"Arthur Pettengill," he said.

"Grell Sutcliff, but you probably already knew that," I said.

"I did, I travel in business circles and I've heard your name quite a bit," he said. "You have been making some waves, a promising start to your career."

"Why thank you, I do my best. And what is your business, might I ask?"

He looked at his glass for a moment and swirled its contents with a smirk. He was trying to come up with a polite description for his impolite work.

"I am in collections myself," he said.

"Fascinating, " I said.

"Not as in smashing kneecaps and collecting kidneys for gambling debts, I assure you," he said with a laugh. "Merely rank and file work."

I couldn't help but laugh along. The fact he was emphasizing this fact added a little to his legitimacy in my mind (a little mind you).

"Did you meet Earl Phantomhive through business then?" I asked.

"Actually I did, our paths crossed a few years ago and once he ropes you into his world you don't have that much interest in leaving. The old bugger is persuasive like that."

"He is a lively character, his personality is simply infectious. That is probably why he keeps such fascinating company."

"He is a great lover of people, people of all kinds simply fascinate him. Title and prestige mean little to him when working with people."

"And a mere collections man such as yourself was able to become friends with the King's Guard Dog."

That came out a little harsher than I intended, though he simply chuckled a bit in response.

"As did a mere noblesse boy just starting to make something of himself," he said, toasting his glass to me. "All kinds, as I said."

"To this motley rabble," I said, toasting my glass.

"Here here," he said, clinking his glass against mine. "I do feel that I must apologize for our first meeting. I am aware I might have sounded a bit threatening."

I really had no words for this. He was admitting to creeping me out last summer, I was a bit pleased to hear this.

"I will admit I did not know what your intentions were when you spoke to me," I said. "I figured you were being philosophical."

"Yes, that was indeed the case," he said. "I do tend to be a bit fatalistic, I tend to express it a bit more when in an ill mood and I was certainly in one that evening."

"Apology accepted," I said. "I was myself a bit out of sorts that evening. It was my first time in this lovely company."

"Yes such first time encounters can be a bit off-putting. Forgive me for saying but I also heard you had a bit of an ill relationship…"

"With the earl's son Armand, more accurately described as me acting like a cross child. Well I am hoping to put such indiscretions behind me."

"The words of a true English gentleman."

His sarcastic tone was hardly lost on me.

"At least one in the making," I said.

He simply smirked and snickered.

"To progress," Arthur said, raising his glass.

"To progress," I said, raising my own glass.

The ringing of a small bell and Joseph's booming voice brought all our attentions to the front of the room; as significant relief on my part.

"Attention honored guests," Joseph said. "Dinner will now be served in the banquet hall."

A round of polite applause went around the group before hum and light trample of traffic moving toward the banquet hall.

"Onto a scrumptious dinner, and I do believe we have a feast ahead of us," Arthur said.

"I can't wait to sample it," I said.

We walked to the banquet hall, this time I kept a pace behind him. I was neutral to his presence now, he had shown me he was simply a normal guy and not some threat. I knew this would be the case, though I needed to at least find out. I was rather proud of myself at this moment, perhaps this would clear the road for the rest of the evening.

The earl did indeed have a grand feast spread out for us. There was succulent duck and tender beef, the plumpest vegetables, the richest sauces, and tarts that were prepared with pure artistry. As dinner progressed everyone was a bit more chatty and a bit less stiff. A heavy meal has a way of doing that and can be effective in its own way compared to drink. Oh drink was there too and a bit heavier during dinner. While full stomachs soak up alcohol, it meant a few of the guests were giddy by now instead of wasted. It was an intelligent move on the earl's part.

Speaking of the devil, I heard so many deep, rumbling laughs from him followed by so many witty jokes. He was a jolly bear of a man with which every one seemed to enjoy interacting. Earl Bram was a character regardless, but he was so much more fun to be around in this environment. He was the ringleader for the party and all the rest could only relax and abandon their posturing. Dinner wound down with so many more bawdy jokes and candid comments, even by the more "pristine" members of the crowd. Jacob was telling some good ones and eventually we had a little competition between us of who could be the most wittily crass.

We finished dessert around 9:30 and many of us reassembled back in the lounge. There were many open cries for the promised entertainment of that evening. I simply enjoyed the change in the guests from the boring parlor party earlier to the more relaxed and a bit drunker crowd now.

I ended up somehow in a conversation with two middle-aged gents, a Lord Hamilton and a Mr. Wilson. Neither of them were being that discreet about how physically close they were to each other. Both of them were half in the bottle, that was obvious, though the way they occasionally leaned on each other for a moment or fixed an off hair reminded me of a newlywed couple. The occasional "Darling: between them told me everything. No one seemed to pay any attention to this, perhaps they did look like two drunk men. Then perhaps no one cared about affections as long as no one was pounding anyone up the arse in anyone's immediate view. They said they were partners in a shipping company, perhaps this was their way to be close.

Funny, such was the same proposal I gave Reginald. What would have happened if he took me up on the offer? Would this be us in twenty years, living together on our mutually earned wealth, no one thinking anything on any idle affections at a party? Would we look over papers during dinner, vow to give ourselves a night off from business to enjoy each other's company, travel to exotic lands and give each other exotic gifts?

It never happened, it was never meant to happen. Reginald was destined to live his short life in self-imposed misery and I put an end to it. I did the world a favor. His time with the Reaper was his time, that was the end of it. All I had were my idle fantasies, though there was nothing wrong with idle fantasies. In fact I was more amused with what was playing out in my brain than any thought that any of it could have come to fruition. Perhaps I had the advantage of not mistaking my visions for true ideas. My visions and reality were their own separate forms of entertainment and I could choose the one or the both that amused me more.

I heard a few cheers going around the room and looked to find the source of someone's merriment. I then saw Earl Phantomhive at the top of the grand staircase beside a clearly Chinese man wearing a yellow brocade robe with his black hair pulled back into a thin braid down his back. This must have been the point man for the lovely dancer girls. The Chinese man clapped his hands loudly, all eyes went upward on the two on the stairs.

"Honored gentlemen," the man said. "The Kunlun Company is proud to be here tonight to present specimens of pure beauty and grace. The Red Lotus Brides."

Lamps dimmed around the foyer and a round of applause went up from the crowd. I kept looking up at the staircase and around me for our performers, but saw nothing. This was theatrical anticipation at its best. I then saw movement out of the corner of my eye, flashes of red all around us. More guests were noticing the same, waves of red like flags in a storm were all around the room.

Then I saw that same red wave flip up the stairs, then another wave came down in a patterned formation. The sound of drums and cymbals rang out in synchronization. I took a better look at the waves now; they were lithe women in red silk dresses. Their speed and agility was breathtaking. Groups of girls flipped down the stairs, then another group came to the top and leapt from the balcony in a somersault, being caught in the hands of their sisters below, who they propelled up to the balcony. Women slid down the banister, then landed in flips across the floor.

I watched this display in pure awe. I couldn't help but admire the delicacy of their red gowns, a rich brocade embroidered with flowers up the sides next to high slits to allow for greater movement. I was sure the rest of the guests were looking for a preview of their womanly assets. Yes I did see beautifully curved legs though they were moving too fast for any greater immodesty. All of them wore their black hair in braided buns. It was a little dark to clearly see faces, though I did see Chinese women who couldn't be any older than 20, 25 at a stretch. None of them wore expressions other than stern concentration.

Their movements matched the drumming and cymbals to take a crescendo, this performance would be over soon. Six large banners then fell from the balcony, a dancer each at the end of them. The ladies landed on the floor in graceful poses. All the women took a last pause as the drums took a loud downbeat with a hail of red confetti. I clapped and cheered with the rest of the crowd, what amazing talent.

The lamps relit and Earl Phantomhive stood at the top of the stairs clapping.

"A most wonderful performance for my good friends," he said. "A great thanks to Mr. Tsing Tao, London Branch Manager of the Kunlun Company, and all his lovely, talented ladies."

Another round of applause followed. About half an hour and another round of drinks later, the lovely ladies were now walking amongst the guests in red dresses with a few more embroidered flowers. Most of them had their hair in braids, some wore ponytails in curls, each had a white flower in her hair. The girls were doing the other part of the job tonight. I had to admit I was most curious what one of these ladies would be like in bed.

Within half an hour many of the guests had a lovely Chinese girl on his arm or sitting across form him. I saw a few pairs walking off into side rooms. My curiosity was a bit more active now and I could use a nice palate cleanser. I approached one young lady who likely came from the washroom or perhaps with another client. I played the charming gentleman, though tried to hold myself back from praising her gorgeous dress more than her lovely skin. As tempting as it would be to assume she barely spoke English, such was not the case. Her English was heavily accented, though adept.

After being such a complimentary gentleman I did politely ask her to join me in a side room for a more private conversation. She whispered in my ear that private performances would cost £3, I slipped the three coins into her hand as we went into a side sitting room.

I politely stripped her of that red dress, what gorgeous material it was. Her arms were so tone, almost muscular. Her whole body was compact muscle, if she had a few parts in place of others I would be on all fours with my hindquarters beggingly in the air. I could still work with this, she was a fine specimen of feminine beauty. I stripped, kissed her, and asked her to lead in this dance. I just wanted to watch her, feel her. I lay down on the couch and she positioned over me. She was so skilled, I had never had a woman in such a position before but this was no mere woman, this was a work of art.

I caressed her golden skin, watched those narrow eyes focus on me, watched her braid bounce on her shoulder. She took a grip on my shoulders and moved ever so skillfully. She knew how to flex her hips, how to put pressure in certain areas, how to caress my body delicately while moving with great force. I even focused on the way her breasts shifted and bounced, I wanted to savor all of her.

She had a quiet moment though continued for me, by my end I was panting and moaning; she was so good at this. I ended with a grunt and collapsed on the couch. She got up, wiped herself off with a towel she kept in a purse, and dressed like nothing. I reached into my purse and gave her an extra few pence.

"You were wonderful, my darling," I said, giving her one last small kiss.

She left, soon I was fully dressed and returning to the party. My hair was down, my shirt untucked, but the same was true of many of the guests and it would only continue from here. By now my fellow guests were louder and drinking a bit more freely.

The clock on the wall read 11, the great countdown was in an hour and the party was just starting to get good. I was ready for a few extra drinks and maybe some refreshment of the flesh that was a little more to my tastes.


	27. Part 27

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 27**

Jacob was right about the collection of exotic liquors. I found this bottle of aged rum with the label of some distillery out of the West Indies. I poured myself a glass and sipped, sampling its flavors. It was rather musky but sweet, not to mention quite potent. Two sips later I was downing half the glass, feeling that delectable burn going all the way down my throat.

I stood against a wall for a moment and finished my drink whilst looking out at the party. When this fete began it was a stuffy collective of distinguished gentlemen; now I was watching all respectability flying for the window. So many men in shirtsleeves, even some waistcoats were coming off. Wigs were staying on but I gave it another hour before those were tossed to the side as well. The standing around was looking more like impatient swaying and the polite conversations were getting a bit louder and more colorful.

I was witnessing glorious entropy; the drink, the beautiful exotic women, the tiredness were prying away the masks. These gentlemen were looking a bit more real now. Decadence meant honesty; it was my truest conclusion. Polite society couldn't handle such a thing for this very reason; morality was a mask, a lie, a coating of make-up to hide the true nature of men's being. Like in theater as in life, no amount of masking or powder could conceal everything. I was watching the degradation of this polite society; if only I could watch the world in such beautiful throes.

I poured myself another tall glass and walked around. I was nice and relaxed after my moment with that Chinese doll, though soon I would embark on my quest to find another kind of companion. In the meantime I sipped my drink bit aggressively and engaged in varied conversations. Speeches weren't entirely slurred so some conversation was possible.

I meandered my way toward the game room and looked inside to meet Arthur's gaze. I decided to walk in and came upon the collections man playing billiards with the lord of the house along with the Chinese trader, Mr. Tao. Lord Hamilton was there too, though I didn't see his partner of business (and who knows what else). A few other men were standing around or lounging in chairs with pipes and drinks in hand watching the game. I decided to loiter about myself, if only to observe such civil men in the midst of such a calm game as the storm of drunkenness pressed in behind them. Earl Phantomhive greeted me with a bright smile.

"I do hope you're enjoying yourself," he said.

I raised my glass.

"To a most magnificent host and a most wonderful party," I said.

A few of the others raised their glasses with a "here here" including Mr. Tao and Lord Hamilton. The earl laughed heartily and went back to positioning his shot. Arthur held onto his cue watching intently. His coat was slung on back of a chair, though he still wore his black gloves. I suppose different men have different preferences for casual dress.

"Tell me, Arthur, is this associate of yours coming down from Sheffield permanently or is this pending," the Earl said, taking a shot and landing a green ball into a corner basket.

"Nothing is in stone for anything at the moment," Arthur said, walking toward the table and examining the balls on the table. "He will be coming down over the summer for some training exercises. You've met him actually, Mr. Pennington, the gentleman from the garden party last spring."

Arthur lined up his shot, the earl looked at the ceiling for a moment in thought before nodding his head in remembrance.

"Oh yes I remember him," the earl said. "The tall gentlemen with the long, white hair; one braid down his shoulder. A most jovial fellow as I recall, a collector of jokes."

"That would be him," Arthur said, taking his shot, landing two balls in their pockets.

"Explain to me again why I don't have any money riding on this," Mr. Tao said.

"Because you would lose it as I am just warming up," the Earl Phantomhive said in response.

A few good natured chuckles went around the room. I noticed Lord Hamilton glancing at me a little in the midst of his polite giggle, his little smile staying in place for a second after the joke wore off and his eyes focused on me for another second before he looked back at the game.

"But John is in fact getting on in his years, he wears his age well in body but he hasn't been doing so in spirit," Arthur said. "He is at retirement age and he's told me he's torn between walking that path or finding some new surroundings. He has enough years with the company and the bosses practically worship the ground beneath his feet, he could transfer to wherever he wishes."

"There's a retirement age for such…dedicated workers?" the earl asked in a tone I found somewhat intriguing. "The work sounds intriguing plus the rewards are plentiful from what you've told me. I thought your lot could work to the Judgment and not grow tired of what you do."

"Oh no, ours is a rough profession," Arthur said. "A bountiful one, but a taxing one. Longevity doesn't necessarily mean eternal tirelessness. The best of us hang it up at some point, usually to rest on our money and our laurels."

I found all this discussion of Arthur's company a bit intriguing. I imagined collections men to be small cells of ruffians going after what was owed, I never imagined it was a large organized conglomeration with offices across England. Perhaps I misjudged the nature of his business, or this was a rather organized collective of hooligans. Perhaps he was a tax collector employed by the crown; that made a bit more sense. A tax collector would be a valuable informant for Earl Bram especially if he was at a certain level of access. As curious as I was to inquire, I knew doing so would still be rather foolhardy. I might have eased my mind with a best case scenario, though if the answer were the worst case I would be in a bit of a bad position.

Earl Phantomhive took a moment to line up his shot and ended up with his cueball in the pocket.

"Rotten luck," I said.

"More like personal foolishness," Earl Bram said.

A few of the others snickered again, Lord Hamilton joining in before sipping a glass of champagne, eyeing me again over the rim of his glass. I looked back at him with a casual smile. He continued looking at me for a moment. If I didn't know any better I would say he was interested in what he saw, or perhaps he recognized me from somewhere. Given how close he was being with his business partner, perhaps his eye was wandering to some fresher meat.

He wasn't a bad looking man, a bit older than I preferred and that curled wig wasn't doing him any favors. Mr. Wilson, on the other hand, looked as if he had a rougher life judging by his skinny form and the creases in his face not to mention that frizzy, salt-and-pepper hair. Perhaps I was a potential mistress, though how well would that go over with the wife? Though still I wasn't exactly desperate for this one.

I suddenly recalled a French nobleman who also didn't impress me from first look, but he turned out to be quite grand. Dear me I had nearly forgotten about him. Pierre asked me to write, perhaps the New Year was a good time to commence. Perhaps we would meet again someday. In the meantime I managed to catch the eye of this other nobleman, I didn't know if he was as much of a gentleman as dearest Pierre, though if he were the only man giving me the eye I didn't see any reason to refuse. Perhaps arrangements could be made later, though his partner could pose a problem. It was more likely I was misinterpreting his glances and nothing would come of it.

"Though should you take part in this transfer, have you decided to do so for the same reasons?" the earl asked.

"Similar but differing reasons. I haven't had nearly as many years with the company as John has though I do have a bit of seniority," Arthur said. "I love London dearly, but I welcome some different scenery, something to keep the mind fresh. London is a bit too settled for my tastes, I would be on the front line for a much newer establishment. Though I'm not holding my proverbial breath on this, this opportunity will not move forward until the end of the rebellion when we can finally get some business done over there."

"The rebellion;" if the meaning of that wasn't clear enough the concerned glance I received from Earl Phantomhive sealed it.

"Though perhaps the least said about that rather unpleasant topic the better," Earl Phantomhive said, keeping a glance on me.

Arthur looked at him then at me with a slightly furrowed brow. I only smirked nervously and took a long sip from my glass.

"Oh please don't on my account, this is your business after all," I said.

Arthur continued to look at me in curiosity.

"The rebellion has had tragic consequences for the Sutcliff family," Earl Phantomhive said with an almost apologetic nod toward me.

"Capt. Oskar Sutcliff, my older brother, was killed in Massachusetts in one of the first battles of the rebellion," I said.

A few more eyes turned in my direction. Arthur looked down and shook his head.

"My heartfelt condolences," he said. "I apologize if I offended."

"No apologies needed," I said. "My brother was a loyal soldier who died in service to our king. I mourn his loss, but I am more proud of him for his service. To me the rebellion is but an awful reality that I pray is quelled soon, though I will not see it as anything more than a tragic circumstance."

"The words of a truly wise young man," the earl said.

A few of the men in the room (Lord Hamilton included, naturally) raised their glasses to me with looks of solemn admiration. The loudest expression, however, was Arthur's half smirk and cocked eyebrow. I avoided looking in his direction, I really wasn't going to bother myself with any meanings or non-meanings in that expression.

"Though if your business involves that rough land, Mr. Pettengill, you have my sympathies," I said, wanting to get this topic over with.

Didn't the rebellion start with protests over taxation? If this bounder was what I thought he was, he was going to be publicly executed by the rabble. Perhaps there would be some justice.

"Oh don't worry about me, I love a good challenge and a bit of adventure," Arthur said.

"You only live once I suppose?" I said. "May as well enjoy yourself before the Reaper comes calling."

"Indeed," he said with this little grin.

"Here here," Earl Phantomhive said with a belly laugh. "Though I'm sure the Reaper enjoys a good time."

"And I'm sure even the Reaper would appreciate our magnificent host and his splendid party," Arthur replied.

"A party to entertain Death himself, I'll drink to that," Lord Hamilton said, raising his glass and rising from his seat.

Arthur lined up his shot, Lord Hamilton walked toward the door making a casual line for me.

"You are a most wise young man, Mr. Sutcliff," Lord Hamilton said, slapping me on the shoulder. "We need to share a glass together before the evening is done."

I noticed a few fingers casually rubbed along my collar, gently brushing my neck. It was such a subtle gesture I doubted anyone else noticed though the insinuation was rather obvious. He left and the others were back at their business with no regard for anything amiss. I watched a few more shots and took my own leave with a few polite words. I needed a refill and I was ready for that other bit of sport. Lord Hamilton looked like a willing prospect, though I would rather find someone a little more to my tastes.

A clock in the corridor read 11:20, forty minutes before the grand assembly. I doubted I would find my prey before midnight though it was best to look for any opportunity. I found my way to the ballroom and the open bar. The rum was delectable, though I was more in the mood for some sweet cognac and the earl had some of the best. I stood at the bar sipping my drink and watching guests file in and out in their growing states of relaxation.

A few of the gentlemen had English women on their arms: the poofed-up hair, caked on makeup, and heaving bosoms advertised these ladies as hired entertainment. Judging by their lovely dresses and refined speech, the earl clearly spared no expense for his guests. He seemed like such a devout family man, but then he was a leader in the underworld and knew how to entice associates with baser tastes. I truly lacked any desire for such company, though a starving man will eat moldy bread to quell his desperation.

A man in a simple wig with small ponytail came up to the bar beside me.

"How good is the cognac," he asked.

I swirled the contents of my glass.

"Quite sweet with a nice bite," I replied.

The man grabbed a glass and poured himself some of the same with a nod. He engaged me in a bit of small talk, introducing himself as Lord Benjamin Aster. He loved talking about himself. I assumed he was a professional actor of sorts for all his interests were in personal appearances and playing to the crowd. I did notice he was growing a bit closer, perhaps a result of his mild inebriation, though he was complimenting my hair a few times. I decided to throw him a few looks back, remarking on his smart suit and the rich brocade of his waistcoat. I did take the liberty of feeling the rich material, he leaned in a bit closer to allow the touch.

I thanked whatever divine or unholy entities that dropped such an opportunity in my lap. He could have been a crusader type out to smite such wanton, hellbound men; he could have been gauging reactions for blackmail; perhaps he was drunker than I suspected. He did make one point that involved slapping his leg, then accidentally brushing against mine.

"And you want to know the best part of the whole calamity," he guffawed, I lost what he was referencing but played along. "I swear you to absolute secrecy."

"I swear," I said.

He took a look around and leaned into my ear, one hand blocking any view.

"Meet me in the south wing, first floor drawing room in ten minutes," he whispered hastily.

"Oh of course," I said with a laugh acting as though I was truly amused with the punch line of his story.

He pulled back and laughed along.

"I know, it was dreadful," he said with his own laugh. Lord Aster then looked at the clock. "Oh goodness me someone's not going to be happy with me being late to our card game. A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sutcliff."

We shook hands and he shuffled along. I poured myself another glass, feeling very relaxed, then walked away, keeping an eye on every clock in every hallway I was in. I casually made my way toward the south wing.

I walked down one corridor and saw Jacob walking in my direction. Oh damn I needed to wave him off. He was dragging along one of the English working ladies, looked to be in a bit of a hurry. Jacob threw some words to me about what a great party it was before his companion lead him off to their own sins.

I arrived at the south wing, seeing most of the doors ajar and dark, indicating they were free for use. One crack in the door did display a beam of light, I decided to casually peek in. It was a small lounge with some ornate furniture and more of the earl's most interesting artifacts. There was Lord Aster sitting in a chair and sipping from his glass. I took a look around me and entered the room, shutting the door behind me.

He immediately rose from the seat, putting his drink down on a nearby table, and practically sprinting toward me. I stayed still, allowing him to grab hold of me and plant a rough kiss on my lips. I joined in with enthusiasm; he had such nice, soft lips. He left little room for romance for as soon as we were kissing, his hands were all over me and dipping under my shirt. Oh he was so rough and to the point; pawing under my clothes, rubbing places, not really saying anything other than a few rough breaths.

Lord Aster then turned me around and slammed me against a wall, my cheek lightly smacked the wallpaper though my grin was firmly in place. His hands were then on my trouser buttons then finally liberating my enthusiastic self. Naturally his real concern was pulling down my trousers in such a way to gain access. I could feel his being pressing against my hindquarters. Alas he was a bit lackluster though beggars can't be choosers. He was kissing my neck, then prepared me a bit roughly.

His lordship was a bit enthusiastic when he commenced, I wasn't minding. I let out a loving gasp, only for a hand to cup my mouth; precautions and all that apparently. He pinned me to the wall and went full force; he was a rather strong man. Here I was pinned to the wall, one hand clutching my arm and the other pressed over my mouth. I was helpless in his hands and impaled with swift thrusts. Oh dear God was I in the purest bliss.

The more bliss I as in the harder his hand pressed against my mouth. I emitted a muffled grunt as I had my moment, he had his almost immediately after. Lord Aster pulled back hastily, handed me a handkerchief, then produced another and wiped himself down. He replaced everything and was soon back to presentable state. He then gave me a nod and walked from the room, closing the door behind him. Bloody hell was I just used? As offended as I wanted to be, I was grinning like a fool when I brought myself back to presentability.

I gave myself a look in a mirror on the wall to see if I were bruised anywhere. Fortunately I wasn't seeing anything but a red mark across my mouth that was fading rapidly. I gave myself another minute and saw it fade a bit more; he hadn't been that rough with me fortunately. I counted another sixty seconds and then left the room. No one else was around, I simply slipped out and rejoined the rest of the crowd.

It was 11:45 by my watch and everyone was starting to assemble in the main foyer, likely for the grand countdown to 1777. Earl Phantomhive appeared at the top of the stairs at 11:55. I didn't see Jacob or the lovely Lord Aster, they probably had better things to do. I did spot Mr. Tao and Arthur in the crowd, Lord Hamilton was there too with his partner beside him; both looking rather pleased at the moment.

The clock reached 11:59. Earl Phantomhive focused on his watch and counted down the seconds. When he started on ten, all of us shouted along with him.

"…three…two…one…Happy New Year!" The crowd cried in unison.

A group of servants on the balcony threw confetti and the half-drunk masses giggled like school boys. Joseph and the other manservants went around the room serving champagne. Joseph poured me a glass and handed it to me.

"Happy New Year, good fellow," I said raising a glass to him.

"A prosperous New Year to you a well, sir," he said with a polite nod.

I did another silent toast to the promise of 1777; I wasn't toasting to a better year, I was toasting to a new year in general. My short years had been rather interesting to say the least, perhaps it was time to embrace the calamity.

I toasted to the new year, then to any happiness I could think of. After that it wasn't toasting, it was just throwing back one after another. Jacob warned me not to get drunk around any distrustful people so I had to get drunk in front of everybody assuming safety in numbers. No one cared about reputation here; in theory I could get as ridiculous as I wanted and everything was forgotten when the party was over. I strongly doubted such an ideal was possible, but I so enjoyed testing boundaries.

By a certain point any worries for reputation melted into worries about hitting the right note or who I was offending by bumping into. I was giddy though not completely numb to the world. I was floating on a cloud though still having a good look at the scenery behind a screen of puffy white. Alas not all of this was a pleasant experience.

The best example of this was finding myself face to face with Lord Hamilton and allowing him to pull me to "someplace where you are a bit safer than this stairway." Safer meant the inside of some kind of room, apparently his partner Mr. Wilson cared for my well-being too, I did thank both of them for their kindness. They then showed their true caring for me with rough kisses at first then a little more groping.

There were a few recitations of "I know you will keep quiet to honor a friend" and "It would be best if you didn't struggle." Most of this was a blur to me, though I do recall understanding every single bit of their intentions…and making nary a protest. In fact at one point I asked them flat out if they were going to stop their speeches and get on with the fun. I can't say what I would have done if I were sober; if I would have protested and fought them off or just allowed myself to be beautifully manhandled. Even in my current recollection I can't bring myself to compare this situation to being forced upon by Reg.

Oh I was being forced upon, no question. I was passed around like a carcass thrown between two bears, only imagine the prey wearing a wide grin with each tear and bite (or in this case a number of other beastly acts). These pleasant gentlemen, these flittering mollies, were absolute animals; it was breathtaking. They finished up with me, then peeled my clothes back into their original state like dressing a nice porcelain doll. A few more whispers of "You won't dare tell anyone or we'll destroy you" followed and they pushed me on my way. I walked back to the party feeling like a walking pile of jam.

I eased up on the liquor for the rest of the night, just glass here and there; my conscious voice peeking through the haze to tell me that perhaps I had my fill for the evening. I did partake of some small meat pies and tea cakes, which took off the edge. When I could read the clock to read 2 o'clock I knew that the liquor was wearing off a bit. This was still a bit quick, though I was only then reminded of how much of a tolerance I had.

A party among my sober thoughts pelted me with insults for letting myself get into that situation in the first place, another party was cringing from the violation, though the majority of my slowly awakening brain couldn't give a toss. I wanted to be more offended by this, but I truly wasn't. A part of me enjoyed the experience, though that part was a bit small; the majority of my brain did request me to take a bath.

By that hour the temperate men were somewhat giddy and the men who enjoyed good cheer were singing loudly and throwing the furniture around. A few of the guests disappeared to other rooms or just passed out in the most convenient place, though the majority likely endeavored to stay up all night in their revelry. I knew I was game to watch the sun rise and watch the house degrade further into a chaos that comes with drunkenness and tiredness.

Around 2:30 my wandering took me to the ballroom. I spotted Lord Aster among those shuffling through and we made eye contact. He gave me a smile and pulled on the arm of a young man next to him, practically pulling him as he walked over to me. Lord Aster looked relatively sober: relaxed but sober. The same truly couldn't be said of his younger companion; he was upright and looked coherent, but that goofy smile and light stumble made it apparent he had been enjoying himself.

"This is the man I was talking about, nephew, a most witty conversationalist who knows a good joke when he hears one," Lord Aster said.

The young man looked at me and smiled, his eyes clearly going up and down my form. It was obvious what "jokes' of mine he had shared with his young nephew. The biggest joke was obviously the size of Lord Aster's cock; I certainly could take it though it was a bit lacking in wit.

"Grell Sutcliff, I present to you Roderick Higgins, the Viscount of Bellingham," Lord Aster said.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," I said with a small bow.

"The pleasure is mine," he replied with his own clumsy bow.

Viscount Bellingham couldn't have been that much older than me, I placed him around 20, 21 if even that. He was rather handsome with this nicely chiseled face and short blond ringlets that hung over his ears. Alas he did look a bit vacant, like a fawn face-to-face with a human; or a stupid cub going after a more powerful kill.

Lord Aster started some kind of conversation, something about "I was telling Mr. Sutcliff about that lovely dinner we had with the Prime Minister" (I would say I don't recall this earlier discussion, but then again I was probably not paying any attention in the first place.) The viscount added a few quips but was keeping most of his attention on me. It wasn't just another lustful look, mind you, it was more like a man facing a proud conquest and having no idea where to start. Looks like Lord Aster brought a boy who wasn't that adept at an illicit hunt.

His lordship soon left us alone with a little wink. The viscount stared at me for a moment then started talking about Paris, lucky for him I could join in the conversation long enough for him to figure out how to proposition me. We eventually settled into a couch in the main lounge. He was complimenting my appearance quite a bit and got a few clumsy feels of my hair. By now I decided I was ready for another prospect; I wanted a much calmer experience than was provided for me by Lord Hamilton and his friend. Finally the viscount mentioned a "private conversation" but wasn't making any arrangements, only settling back into conversation. Now I was starting to get agitated.

At one point the viscount rose to excuse himself, presumably for a trip to the privy or perhaps he was giving up on me and wanted to settle his affairs with his own hand. I thought about leaving, but that would have been rude. After a few minutes he returned, two lovely Chinese dancers on each arm.

"I found some beautiful gems during my time away," he said. "I would like to offer you one as a gift."

I had a feeling of what his intentions were. I had to give him some credit for cleverness; it was a clumsy move but an effective one.

I rose from my seat and took the hand of the lady on his left, kissing her hand like the good gentleman I was. The viscount removed his arm from my chosen doll, looked at me, and walked off with his own companion. I gave him a head start, that "private conversation" comment earlier might have met someone else's ear and the intentions would be all the more obvious now. I paid some compliments to the loveliness of my own bird and did a careful sweep of the room to make sure no one was watching or even pretending not to pay attention. A few men were milling about and walking in and out of the room but no one seemed to pay us any notice.

I then lead my escort through the same hallway I had seen the viscount enter. I just hoped these women weren't being paid to share secrets with their master. I was tempted to offer a bribe, but then no amount of money I could have given her would compare to the money Mr. Tao or Earl Phantomhive would pay for such intelligence. I had a feeling though that these Chinese dancers and the English strumpets were simply party favors, what man would sample the goods if he knew the goods would betray him? Earl Phantomhive had other ways of learning his guests' predilections and wouldn't rely on secondhand information, especially from a whore.

Viscount Bellingham had stopped in the hallway to stroke the hair of his escort, clearly waiting for me to catch up. He then gave me a look and went into an open door, leaving it partially ajar. I brought my lady through the door, shutting and locking it. The room appeared to be a guest bedroom. There was a grand bed and equally grand furniture, but the decorations were rather nondescript and lacking much of the rustic elegance of the rest of the house. There were a few of the earl's favorite types of accoutrements here, namely the framed swords on each wall and the real wolf pelt rug.

The viscount sat down on a sofa with his companion and proceeded to kiss and caress her. I brought my own to the bed and did the same, though was more waiting for the viscount to make some move. Perhaps he did want a joint session and only that. My companion eventually removed her dress and was clad only in this silk wrap underneath. She was rather tone for such a beautiful woman, though an athletic, feminine tone.

I savored the softness of my companion's body, kissing her, running my hands underneath that robe and feeling her curves. It was more of a sensory appreciation right now than any real carnal desire. I would have no qualms with bedding her right here, though only if the viscount had no intention of doing anything.

It was an interesting realization. There was a beautiful, exotic woman under my touch though I only admired her like a living painting. I savored the heat of her body and the softness of her skin only like savoring a warm bath or a delectable meal. Perhaps that was how I would see making love to her; no, that was how I saw every woman I had bedded. I had laid so many women, though only lady libertines and other purchased refreshments at parties. They were exercise, they were base sustenance for my urges, but I never truly desired them.

I was glancing over at the viscount, admiring that tone form under his open shirt and wanting to run my hands over it like his bird was doing now. That was what I wanted, that was my true desire. This girl was a but a slice of bread, he was the abundant feast; I knew which of the two I would rather sup on.

At last the viscount laid eyes on me and gave me a lustful look. I looked up from my entertainment and locked eyes with him. He pushed his own bird back and lightly tapped on the bed, bringing my attention forward as well as that of my companion.

"Ladies, my friend and I have particular habits about our companions," the viscount said.

The women looked at him as he rose from the couch and walked across the room to a door, opening it to reveal a nice washroom. I knew what he was doing. I pitied him a little; he had to go through such a grand scheme to simply lay one man. This screamed of inexperience, though as long as I got what I wanted he could engage in all the dramatics he wished.

"We wish for you to take a light bath before proceeding," he said. "You are most certainly well-groomed, though my companion and I like the feel of freshly washed skin."

The girls looked at each other, then nodded and rose from their own positions and walked into the washroom. The viscount closed the door and looked at me, I smiled back. He skipped merrily over to the bed and grabbed hold of my hands, leaning down and kissing me with passion. Now this was more like it. I ran hands through his hair and kissed him back, tasting the cognac on his breath. His hands were running all over me, unbuttoning my shirt and caressing my chest. He actually had manners unlike his uncle.

"I apologize for all the precautions," he said between kisses.

"Apology accepted," I replied with a little sigh. "Here I was thinking you would prefer to bed that woman right in front of me and deny me the satisfaction."

"She is indeed beautiful, such lovely skin, such toned arms," he ran a hand over my arms and my abdominal muscles saying this.

He gradually peeled my clothes off, though I really didn't feel like giving him everything he wanted after that. His hand reached for my awaiting organ but I batted the hand away.

"How do I know you're not thinking of her when you're touching me," I said.

He giggled, he was still nicely in the bag but held his liquor rather well. The viscount then looked to the floor and reached down, pulling up my bird's lovely brocade dress.

"Or maybe I'm imagining you in this," he said.

I pushed him back and hopped from the bed, grabbing the dress from him. He collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles. I held out the garment, examining the rich silk and vivid flower print. This didn't appear too small. I swung it around my shoulders and placed my arms through each billowing sleeve. It fit rather well around my arms. I fastened the loop buttons, finding my shoulders little too broad for it though I ignored the top buttons to my chest and buttoned it anyway. This simply showed off a little bit of collarbone. I turned around and did a pose like holding a fan, listening to his shower of chortles.

"You want me, your grace," I said, mimicking a Chinese accent rather terribly.

"Oh my exotic beauty, I wish to give you the pleasure of the gods," the viscount said between choking laughs.

I snapped my head back and walked away from him with a huff, hands on my hips. This thing was quite comfortable despite the snugness. I loved how the material draped around my legs. I walked over to a standing mirror by the wardrobe and took a good look at myself. My first instinct was the sheer ridiculousness of this, though I was enamored by the color of the garment and the detailed embroidery. It clung to my hips and billowed over my legs, I daresay it flattered my form.

It was a lovely contrast; a powerful, masculine shape draped in graceful silk. I felt like a lady yet also like a man; a man wrapped under a beautiful illusion. A man not bound by restraints of society, of expression, like one free of identity. This was crossing a line that society preferred I never cross; it was lovely deviance, it was brilliant. I pulled my hair back and wrapped it into a bun, hearing my companion practically gasping for breath amidst laughing. I almost wished I had some powder and pencils with me, or at least a hairpin.

"Such a beautiful creature you are," he said.

I swung around with my arms out.

"Do you find me beautiful?" I asked with a soft voice.

I walked closer to the bed and he grabbed my arms, pulling me down.

"You are radiant, my flower," the viscount said caressing my face.

"Then make me feel beautiful," I cooed with a smile.

He kissed me, reaching under my dress and caressing my flesh. Here I was, my body caressed with rich silk and a man's touch. I was such a happy little maiden. I undressed him and watched his nude form over me, savoring his tone muscles and his own awaiting flesh. This one man was worth more to me than a hundred wanton women. He lifted my skirt and prepared me while still kissing me. At last he made love to me, taking advantage of the undone buttons and kissing my neck. For all his previous clumsiness, he was quite good. I was still a little sore from the encounter with Lord Hamilton and his crony, but Viscount Bellingham was smoothing out all my aches.

He made love like a gentleman, or rather a boy trying to be a gentlemen. There was the occasional heavy hand and he was getting over exuberant the closer he got to the end. I could hear him grunting hard, bringing me closer to my own moment. The side window then exploded and a black form jumped into the room. The viscount pulled away from me with a scream and faced the figure; a man to my guess cloaked in a long black coat, a black tricorn on his head and the lower part of his face concealed by a black mask. The intruder now had a pistol in hand and aimed it at the viscount's head.

This bastard just interrupted my lovemaking. I was so close to my own finale, sighing in bliss, and this fucking pig intruded. I wanted to destroy him, that was my only thought. I kicked my legs into the figure's stomach, he dropped the pistol and landed back with a grunt. A sword was soon in his hand and he was now swinging for me. I reached to the wall and grabbed one of the swords from its decorative frame. Luckily I was rather skilled with a fencing foil in school, this couldn't have been that different.

I parried a few swipes, but he was much more skilled than I. Two more windows smashed behind us and I heard more footsteps enter the room. The washroom door flew open and I saw the two girls spring out, both wielding a dagger in each hand. They flew towards the intruders like leaves in a breeze, kicking the pistols from their hands. Swords flew into the hands of the interlopers, but these girls in their undergarments counted every swipe and delivered kicks with their bare feet that put them on the defensive.

I continued to hold off my own man, but he looked away for a brief second; likely surprised by the two Chinese warrior maidens. I shoved the point of the sword through his throat. He managed a whimper as blood gushed from his neck. I heard the viscount let out a high-pitched scream behind me. I withdrew the sword and hacked into his torso, blood gushed from all the wounds. He tried to keep upright and managed to kick me away for a second, but I lay into him even harder with unholy fury.

I hacked at his arm, watching his sleeve burst open with muscle and blood. I plunged the blade further into his throat, producing more abundant fountains. He was a pincushion to me now, I just wanted to obliterate his existence. I unleashed a mass of intelligible screams laced with every obscene word in English, French, and German that I knew. I savored the feel of the blade slicing through his flesh, nicking against bone, and plunging into the rough muscle of his organs. He lay prone on the floor but I really didn't care if he was dead yet. I sliced away flesh, exposing his entrails and slicing most of the skin off his arms. Blood spurt up and bathed me like a warm spring, then it trickled to the postmortem ooze. He was a savage art form to me now, a palate of red.

I heard a loud voice behind me, only paying attention when I recognized my name. The voice shouted it louder, bringing me out of my fervor. I swung around and came face to face with Jacob. I froze, my nerves cooling. He was standing in the now-open doorway without his wig and clad in his shirtsleeves, his eyes fixed on me. I looked down to see I was still wearing the red Chinese dress; the blood soaking it made it redder still, it was a lovely addition. The bloody sword was in my hand and a mutilated body lay at my feet. I looked back up to see my older brother and guardian staring at me with his mouth gaping open.

I was fucked, I was completely and utterly fucked.

I emitted a small sigh, looking over to see two other bodies lying on the floor; black clad figures with blood oozing from neck wounds. The Chinese girls stood at the ready, their daggers poised in their hands as they stared at Jacob with calm expressions. I heard some whimpering behind me and looked over. Viscount Bellingham was sitting in the corner between the bed and he bed table; arms wrapped tightly around his bare legs, face a mess with tears. I looked back up at Jacob, watching his watery blue eyes scanning every exhibition.

"Is anyone hurt?" he asked.

"By the grace of God no," I said. "Who were these men?"

"I will explain later, though there are more of them," Jacob said. "As safe as you may be with these ladies, remaining in one location would not be a wise idea. Get some decent clothes on and follow me, same with you Lord Bellingham."

I nodded then looked back up at Jacob.

"Brother, I know how this looks," I said.

He smiled and waved a dismissing hand.

"Your business is your own, I find prying into personal matters beyond rude," he chuckled.

I did breathe a sigh of relief with this, he seemed rather relaxed about the whole thing; caring more about the greater calamity than this one. I wasn't exactly in an incriminating position…well other than the position involving bloody clothing, a sword in my hand, and a dead body.

"If we leave, we must leave now," the viscount's maiden said, hastily picking up my clothing and throwing it at me.

I looked at my girl and shrugged.

"Sorry about the dress," I said.

"No matter, we leave now," she said.

I unbuttoned the dress, not exactly arguing.


	28. Part 28

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 28**

This was officially the wildest party I had ever been to in my entire life. Every evening of drunken debauchery and bedhopping paled in comparison to this: running down a hallway with a sword in my hand watching as a maid ran across the corridor with a rifle poised to aim, all the while being pelted with the din of screaming and gunfire. The hallways were gripped with panic; everyone running at full bore away from whatever crashed at them. I saw the English whores running around in tears. Most of the men weren't much heartier judging by their high pitched screams and pleas to God. The heartier lot seemed to be the Chinese dancers and the Phantomhive servants; all heavily armed and running toward danger.

Jacob pushed me around a corner into a less populated corridor, I looked over at him and saw a pistol in his hand. Those dangerous Oriental beauties ran along with their knives poised. Both girls were still were clad in their underclothes, I didn't feel as bad for ruining one of their garments if both did not take the time to change. I had to throw on my basic clothes out of necessity; the same for Viscount Bellingham, though he barely pulled on a shirt and his trousers against his shaking and sobbing.

He was now occasionally yanked the collar by one of the Chinese girls to pull him forward against all the feet dragging he did accompanied by whimpering. I couldn't help but imagine an unruly kitten being clamped in its angry mother's teeth by the scruff of its neck. Bloody hell what a whelp.

I myself was running with the rest, the sword still poised in my hands waiting for someone to try anything. I was ready for anything; fire was flowing through my veins, I was ready for another one of those toss-offs to come after me. I already ended one of their friends, I was ready for some more play. At the same time I was taking this all in. Never before had I ever been in a predicament such as this. While others were cowering, I was savoring the danger.

There were no more of these intruders down the corridor, instead I saw more groups of guests being herded into the hallway by uniformed servants. All of us filed through the doors of a large parlor at the end of the hall, more and more entering the room in various stages of dress and respective amounts of yelling and screaming. Servants were running around the room telling small groups to keep calm and try to be quiet; the situation is being taken care of, the quieter we all stay the better matters can be controlled.

Jacob yanked me by the collar to bring my attention right to his face.

"Stay here, you'll all be safe," Jacob said. "I need to rendezvous with the others and collect more guests."

"Be careful, brother," I said. I think I actually meant it.

Jacob nodded and ran from the room. The double doors closed, bringing another wave of screaming from the guests and more reassurances from the help though little was working. Men cursed them out, accused them of being part of the conspiracy, accused Earl Phantomhive of orchestrating all this, begging to be let out of the house, praying loudly. You could tell who were Earl Phantomhive's business associates and who were his true compatriots of the underworld by the reactions. Plenty of men remained collected while others panicked.

It was a room filled with milk fed, massaged muttons who never left their golden pens and were now stampeding or cowering at a wolf's howl. I stood and watched so many respectable, proud men turn into bleating sheep. I tried to keep a straight face, though my inner voice was emitting fiendish laughter.

Through the noise I was able to decipher a few details. It appears nigh on everyone had the same type of introduction with the party crashers; everything jovial one second until men in black coats fell through the windows and ran down the hallways with pistols and swords blazing. Another common tidbit was all the intruders were met almost immediately by either the Chinese birds or combat-ready servants. Did the earl keep servants or a bloody army?

Given his position, he would need a staff with a dual purpose; after all the house was now being raided by strange men. I wonder if this a regular occurrence, they seemed to have a plan in place for such an occasion. There were so many twitters about the servants, though the dancer girls were the talk of the room; oh so many glowing remarks about "lady assassins" and "fatal beauties" not to mention some lovely comments about their heritage.

As for what exactly happened, keeping up with all the stories was somewhat entertaining. A hundred men stormed the house with heavily armed reinforcements outside. These rogues were sent by an enemy power to begin a covert war against England. It was a training exercise between the earl and a colleague. Some gang of powerful brutes (smugglers, slave traders, arms dealers, and whoever else) wanted to get back at the earl for his meddling, or because he owed them some debt. The king himself wasn't pleased with Earl Bram and wanted to punish him and his allies for something. The list went on.

I was paying attention to the stories for the drama factor, then I overheard someone say a name that chilled me to the bone: "Marquis Kirkney." I pulled my senses back together long enough to piece together why that name was even being brought up.

"He still thinks the earl had his boy eliminated," I heard one fellow say. "He swears someone did him in and made it look like a suicide. Naturally saying such too loudly could attract too much attention, but he's been whispering in the ear of anyone who might listen.

"You don't think Kirkney would go to this much trouble, do you?" the other person in the conversation said. "This is so much beyond him."

"You never know what a father will do for revenge. Kirkney and Phantomhive have been rivals for His Majesty's ear for years, the sheer thought might have sent him over the edge; maybe encouraging him to go a bit further."

I felt like I had a thistle bush growing in my stomach. No, this wasn't possible, but then perhaps it was. Reg ranted about him plenty, though I truly didn't know the marquis' character. I had heard he was obsessed with his work, but his work was highly political in nature. All this politicking was at a level too deep for my understanding, but what if it were truly capable of going to these extremes?

I remember that twat Harlowe mentioned some hypothetical suspicion about Earl Phantomhive having arranged Reg's death as a rival to the king's graces and as an angry father. Naturally it was a bollocks lead-in to another accusation, though it apparently was a more common idea than I thought. The stage was set, what if I just pushed things into motion. What if an act of my aching pride might have sparked a war? It wasn't exactly a pleasant thought.

It was also a presumptuous one too; this wasn't medieval times where every noble house had a standing army. Yes covert action was more than possible, but this was a little too elaborate for a row between two houses. It was too blatant for the Kirkney house, the marquis would be too easily connected to this crime. I doubted the king would tolerate such actions; Kirkney had everything to lose by being this rash.

No, this was something completely different and everyone had their own idiotic theories. It was more likely that someone would bring up this little rumor as a possible explanation than it was for this to actually be the case. Earl Phantomhive had so many enemies with so much more resources and power than Roger Kirkney. I listened a little closer to some of the other conversations and heard the names of a few other nobles being tossed around as possible suspects, not to mention an array of authorities, politicians, businessmen, thugs, grocers and bakers, and who the hell knows what else.

I finally breathed a sigh of hesitant relief, though I had to be careful. I did my best to keep from looking at whoever was talking; keep the appearance of another half-stunned party guest and not someone eavesdropping on their conversation. It wouldn't be too hard to figure out who I was and my connection to the topic at hand.

A small commotion broke out by the doors that was quickly quelled by a familiar voice. Joseph entered the room with his hands up in peace, the other men by the door lowered whatever blades and pistols they had on them and eyed him whilst calming their nerves. As amusing as it would be for someone to shoot first, I found Joseph to be a decent enough fellow. It would be hard for the earl to buy another tribesman somewhere to domesticate.

"Gentlemen your attention please," Joseph said, walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

The twitters in the room dulled and all eyes went on him.

"On request of the Earl of Phantomhive, I am here with information on the incidents that transpired this evening," he continued. "As of now the incident has been isolated and there does not appear to be any further danger to this house."

The usual calls for answers rumbled from the group. Joseph put a gloved hand up and all voices died down.

"At exactly 3:30 this morning, a total of twenty armed men entered the manor by force at various locations around the building. Thankfully our defense force is strong and we were further aided in defense by the highly adept Red Lotus Brides. There are also members of this party who responded with their own swift action and further aided in the protection of this house."

A few cheers went up through the crowd, I resisted the urge to bow.

"Our defenders quickly met this incursion with full force and from all reports all of the hooligans have been either killed or captured," Joseph said.

A few more claps went around, though more men demanded to know who was responsible.

"That information is still being discovered as we investigate the incident," Joseph replied. "We strongly suspect this may have been an act of aggression instigated by an enemy of the crown whom his lordship has been smoking out on the behest of the king. As I have said the earl and his colleagues are thoroughly investigating this incident and more information will be made available as it is known."

I was curious as to who among us those close colleagues were. Considering how swiftly Jacob rushed out, it wasn't a far off guess that he could have been one of them. I was curious if he knew of these possible events ahead of time. It would explain the warning about avoiding "rough characters," though this was all speculation.

The crowd took this speech as a cue for more shouting and more names being tossed out as possible suspects. Joseph bid the hostile masses to be quiet once more.

"We are doing further sweeps of the mansion to be assured that this threat has been destroyed," he continued. "At the moment I ask that you all wait here for at least the next half hour. We have tea and coffee service at the ready with some pastries and there are drinks available at the back of the room. In just a short while Earl Phantomhive himself will brief all guests on the incident once we are assured everyone is indeed safe."

"My uncle is out there, Lord Benjamin Aster," Viscount Bellingham shouted in a shaking voice. "Is he still alive?"

A few other men called names of their own friends and associates.

"Alas I cannot provide any updates on the conditions and whereabouts of any friends and loved ones, nor can I say if any guest or staff member has been injured or perished in this act," Joseph said. "But as I said in about a half hour, possibly three quarters of an hour everyone will reassemble as one group for a briefing from Earl Phantomhive."

Joseph opened the door a crack and allowed a man in another servant's uniform to enter with a cart carrying large, steaming pots with a tray of various teacakes and biscuits. Both the manservant and Joseph bowed to all of us and walked from the room in perfect step. Amid all the chaos and danger, these men still prepared coffee, tea, and pastries, and served them with the utmost calm. I wondered how many ruffians Joseph and his colleagues killed tonight, or perhaps they were properly keeping the kitchen whilst the world exploded around them.

The shouting and buzzing resumed. I decided to take advantage of this gracious hospitality and poured myself a cup of tea, leaning my sword against the cart and keeping it within reach if the threat was not cleared out. A few other calm fellows had the same idea and joined me. A few did ask how I got the sword.

"I pulled it from the wall and stabbed one of those louts shortly after he came through the window," I said between sips of my tea.

This earned me quite a few pats on the back and calls for the story. I merely said I greeted the intruder with the sword and bested him in combat. He was a burly bugger who didn't go down too easy, but I managed to end the threat of his existence. Suddenly I was quite liked. Before tonight I had killed two other people with the utmost care and secrecy. I had just taken my third life and here I was boasting about it in the company of respectable men, receiving handshakes and words of congratulations for my victory. Perhaps there was more glory in defense than murder. Perhaps if Matthew did sell me off to the Army I could enjoy myself somehow, though why think on such unpleasantness right now?

My story was matched by those of a few others in the room. I listened to every tale as a fellow protector, though I reserved judgment on how many of them were true. Tall tales were often the sign of a boring man. I did take a look through the crowd to catch a glimpse of the cowardly viscount. The last thing I needed was to further rattle his cage or put myself in a position where he could challenge my story out of hysterics and tell everyone more details of what happened in that bedroom. Thankfully he was on another side of the room and sipping a drink with a shaking hand. A few of the guests were checking on his welfare, though he didn't appear to say much of anything.

Too bad such a wonderful lover was such a quivering mouse, though perhaps such was how most men would react to having a pistol pointed at one's head. I just carved up his would be attacker and here my hands were as still as could be and my heart not straying from its gentle rhythm. Though I couldn't imagine seeing my handiwork was that easy on the boy. The Chinese women were likely used to such sights, not this sheltered kitten. Perhaps he wasn't as much pathetic as I was completely mad.

These conversations were a magnificent way to pass the time. I would be lying to say I wasn't the least bit concerned about the circumstances, though idle talk was a wonderful distraction. After a while even the jumpiest men were calming slightly, going from shouting to shivering quiet.

I was discussing French pastry with this one gentleman who seemed calm as could be. Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by one loud bang followed by another one a second later; the unmistakable sounds of gunfire. The noise sounded as if it came from another part of the house, though it was still noticeable. The room erupted once again into screaming and shouting. Men ran around like confused chickens, some running for the door. Almost immediately a manservant was in the room shouting for everyone to keep calm. This was an isolated incident within one of the rooms; it was not known what the nature of the incident but all was still perfectly under control.

This did little to reassure the masses, though it was good enough for me. I trusted the staff enough to be on top of this matter, otherwise I would welcome my final appointment. Either way I was better off enjoying some rich tea to the symphony of scared shouting, thankfully my conversation partner was content to returning to his point about French baking methods. A few words from the Scottish king passed through my mind: "I have forgotten the taste of fear."

A bit more time passed without further incident. The door then opened once more, several men jumped and gasped in response; nerves were clearly still on high. I looked over and saw Jacob casually walking over to me. His gait and steps were much more relaxed as was his expression. He did not have his pistol in hand, though I did see the butt end of it sticking out from under his shirt; it must have been in a holster and ready to be drawn.

He leaned in and spoke in my ear with a low tone.

"Brother I require your assistance with something in particular," he said. "Follow me please."

He turned around and walked for the door, I followed in step behind him. I hadn't the slightest ideas as to what assistance he needed from me, though so many odd things were going on that evening. The servant at the door opened it and we both stepped out, Jacob moved right along with a destination clearly in mind; I simply followed behind him, but kept the sword at the ready.

The hallway was dead quiet, no one was in the corridors at all. I looked around and saw the other black-cloaked corpses scattered in a few areas. A few of the servants passed by, I saw a few of the Chinese girls as well and heard them whispering to each other in their native tongue; all of them seemed to be doing some kind of perimeter check. I heard a few voices behind the door to the ballroom, the same manner of nervous shouting and murmurs as could be heard in the room I just left. Apparently another group of guests were filed in here for their own protection. Just a few hours ago these halls were packed with people and the sound of laughing, shouting, and singing. Now it was a tomb, a hollow place of death and fear.

Jacob walked near the kitchen area, removing a key and unlocking a plain green door. He opened it, holding it open for me to enter first. I did so, entering another nondescript hallway with somewhat of a musty smell. Jacob closed the door and locked it behind him. I noticed myself taking a firmer grip on the sword. Jacob walked past me with a head motion for me to follow him. I did so, but just now felt my heart taking a bit of a faster beat.

Our path lead us down a set of stairs and into an area lined with stones. The air was musty down here with a slight smell of bread and meat. This was likely a pantry area, though our path was becoming a little too isolated for my liking. I managed to catch up with him and leaned in his hear, aiming to keep as quiet as I could.

"Might I inquire as to what assistance you need?" I whispered.

"All will be explained soon," Jacob whispered back.

I wasn't pleased with what I was hearing, but it was better to go along with it; go along with it with my eyes in all directions and hand firmly clutched to my sword. Here I had been the picture of calm through this whole thing and now my own courage was being tested, but this was under different circumstances.

Jacob walked to door near the end of the hallway, knocking on the graying wood in a specific rhythmic pattern. The door opened a crack before opening fully, revealing a weathered-looking man in a black coat wearing a white wig tied into a tight ponytail. He looked at Jacob and nodded, allowing him entrance. He gave me a second glance, but said nothing as I followed my brother inside.

We walked into a long stone room lit with only a few small lanterns on the wall. I immediately saw Mr. Tao off to the side, then Earl Phantomhive. Arthur was a few meters beside the earl and looking down at his watch. There were four other men standing around and quietly talking amongst themselves including the man who let us in (who I heard addressed as Kendrick). I saw quite a few of these other gentlemen at the party, but never got their names. Quite a few of them were in a more collected manner of dress, though I saw quite a few untucked shirts and unbuttoned waistcoats.

The men looked at me and simply nodded. I politely nodded back, though I was on high guard. I felt I was in the presence of some manner of secret society, why the hell was I being brought here? There was a simple answer for that: Jacob. Jacob wanted me to meet these gentlemen for whatever reason; maybe introduce me to his world, or perhaps I was here to be drawn and quartered. All answers would come in time.

The earl walked over to me with a small smile.

"I heard you had a bit of heroics earlier this evening," he said.

I was a bit surprised he was starting with normal chit chat and not a formal welcome or explanation as to why I was here. It was best to play along.

"It was a rather unfortunate situation; I did my best to defend myself, sir," I said.

"Well you live and one of these hooligans has gone to his proper reward, well done my friend," he said.

He patted my shoulder, hit other hand gently clasped my wrist and lifted up my hand that gripped the sword.

"Ah, Albin the Huntsman's sword," he said. "It was a gift from the current Sheriff of Nottingham, it belonged to this old yeoman hermit wandering around the forests of Yorkshire in the 1300s. Local legends say Albin used to brag that he was once a member of the Merry Men, though no one ever knew if it was true."

It was a fascinating story, apparently the odd treasures in his house had some sort of greater significance.

"Looks like the history of this sword continues," the earl said.

He gently yanked on the pommel. I was supposed to take this as a cue to let go of the sword and hand I back over to its current owner. Instead I retained my tight grip. The earl gently pulled his hand away with a smile and stepped aside. He was letting me hold onto it for now. I took this as a light communication that perhaps I wasn't in any real danger; there was no need for the sword. He wasn't forcing it from my hand either, meaning there was no immediate need to disarm me.

"Is everyone here," Earl Bram called to the group, his eyes going over everyone in the room, falling to me for a moment.

"I believe this is everyone," Mr. Kendrick said.

He also cast a small glance at me, now I was truly growing worried.

"Good," the earl said. "Gentlemen, let us serve some proper justice,"

He walked to another end of the room, the lot of us following. Jacob walked closer to me, I glanced at him with a look of confusion, though he only gave me a fleeting glance in return. I did think that perhaps they caught one of the ruffians and were offering proper payback. Otherwise my mind was blank, I hadn't a clue what was going on.

The earl lit another lantern on the wall, revealing a low set of wooden double-doors. He knocked, the door opened revealing a man in a slightly curled wig wearing a black jacket of military style, a walking stick in his hand.

"Is everything all set, General?" the earl asked him.

"Most certainly, come in," the man said.

"Splendid," the earl replied, walking into the room and beckoning the rest of us to follow.

I let the others go in first, Jacob took a position behind me looking as if he intended to follow me in. I saw him glancing at me a few times, this only grated on my nerves further yet I remained stoic. At last I walked into the room lit with a few small lamps, seeing the other men gathered in a circle.

In the center of the circle was Lord Hamilton and Mr. Wilson; stripped naked, tied to chairs, gagged with rope, skin covered in bruises and blood.

A small gasp escaped me, though I sucked in all other air. My throat was closing a bit too much to emit any words or sounds. I forced myself into a visage of disinterested calm, though I feared my initial reaction was already apparent. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jacob staring at me. I merely glanced back at him, he kept his eyes locked on me. My stomach surged, I swallowed hard to keep from retching.

I took a few more breaths to calm myself. This panic would undo me even more, no I was already undone. Two men I committed acts of sodomy with just a few hours ago were now stripped, bound, and gagged in front of me. Here I was on the beckoning of a group of shifty men in a clandestine group as the complete outsider. The connection was obvious, there was nothing more I could say or do to get me out of this.

My hand gripped my sword tighter; if any of these men advanced, I would drag as many of them to Hell with me as I could. A voice in my mind screamed at me, the hands of my rationality grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me: this isn't about you! There is something else afoot here! Don't be an idiot and give yourself away! A few deeper breaths pulled my senses back to the moment. It was only now when I saw a third man similarly bound next to Lord Hamilton, though his clothes were intact.

I didn't even bother guessing who this twat was, I wanted this whole thing over with. Let them tie me up, let them torture me, let them kill me, I didn't give a fuck.

"General Cory, so you have everything you need?" the earl said.

"I'm more than satisfied," Cory said. "They played hard at first, they were very well prepared. Though I managed to find holes in their stories and rip through them. Alas there was a little incident."

Cory pointed over to the wall to a long cloth-covered object in the corer of the room. It looked like a set of grain sacks, I only now recognized the shape of a body. A few of the men gasped and whispered amongst themselves before looking back to the speaker.

"Does that explain the shots we heard earlier?" one of the men said, a gentleman with long, curly black hair and a thick Italian accent.

"It explains them exactly," Cory said. "They tried to enact a last minute plan with some pistols up their sleeves and found out how quick and strong those Brides can be. Alas we lost one of the underlings, but I would rather it were him than me. Another round went into the wall. If you'll excuse their unpresentable appearance, it was the only way we could ensure anyone's safety."

"They were that heavily armed?" Jacob said.

"Every pocket, every sleeve, every nook and cranny, they had a whole arsenal," Cory said. "I'm not going to tell you where they kept a few maps."

Cue the nervous shifting around the room. I simply stared at them, my mind trying to keep up with what I was hearing. Both of them men made eye contact with me and stared at me. I moved my gaze away lest anyone get any ideas. I saw Earl Phantomhive looking at me out of the corner of my eye. Too late.

"All of you gentlemen know who these honored guests are," Earl Phantomhive said. "Alas I believe Mr. Sutcliff the younger is coming into this rather uninformed. I do know you are familiar with these gentlemen."

I kept my expression stony as sweat poured down my back; I had to get further into character. If I was already done for than so be it; but I wasn't going to destroy myself any further.

"I spoke with them at the party, yes," I said.

Earl Phantomhive merely smiled in response. He was going to call me out on my lie, oh God he wasn't going to associate me with these bastards was he? No, I would be sitting similarly tied up if he suspected anything of that sort.

"Can you identify them for me?" the earl said.

"Lord Henry Hamilton and Mr. David Wilson," I said, trying to mask my growing confusion.

"Correct to a point, as this was presented to all of us," Earl Bram said. "General Cory could you give our honored guests a more proper introduction?"

"Certainly, my lord," Cory said.

The general walked over to Mr. Wilson and placed a hand on his shoulder. Mr. Wilson glared at him, though he made no other reactions.

"Gentlemen, I present to you the guest of honor; the elusive shadow that has been chased across ten countries and now shows his mortal form," Cory said. "Mr. Carel Boels, general of the Knights of Discord, responsible for a assassinations, riots, and the destruction of numerous monuments, homes, and government buildings across central Europe."

What?

I stared at Wilson, or rather Carel Boels. My mouth dropped open a little, though I put myself together swiftly.

"De heer Boels comes to us from Antwerp from a line of Flemish liberators and anarchists to his own reign of destruction in the name of freedom. There were a few stops in Belgian prisons in his leaner days, hence how we know his name and a few physical features. He has been traveling across Europe, amassing many followers to whom he has preached the gospel of disobedience and violence. His presence on the shores of Britannia is owed to this gentleman right here."

This general placed a hand on Lord Hamilton's shoulder, if that even was his name.

"Stephen Alley, the Baron of Redding by official paperwork and Lord Hamilton, Baron Williams, Viscount Corks, and Lord Macy through creative forgeries. Dhr. Boels should have gone no further than a French naval blockade at Cherbourg six months ago, though somehow he managed to escape capture by the skin of his teeth and made his way onto English shores. It takes the money and influence of a man on the inside to pull off such a grand transference. Oh what a perfect partnership these two made, working together for the birth of their own infant syndicate of traitors in England. This includes our third guest Mr. Harold Wallace." General Cory put a hand on the third man's shoulder, causing him to flinch. "A squire turned malcontent who readily mingled with these ruffians. Not to mention Mr. Ralph Hawkins, who is with us in body only."

Cory pointed to the shrouded corpse by the wall, all eyes turned back to the late Mr. Hawkins for reference before looking back.

"This band of about fifty, all of whom will be hunted down within the next week, have already burned down three businesses with Royal Warrants and are slowly making their way to London," the general continued.

"And what better way to make a statement to the crown than invade the manor of an informant to the king on New Year's Eve and kill as many noble and influential guests as possible," Earl Phantomhive said, walking in front of them. "Your men storm the manor while you remain inside as innocent partiers and slip out with the rest of the stunned crowd. You will remain the shadow, your presence only told through a little note left by one of your soldiers.

The earl reached into the group and was handed a black leather folio. He opened it to reveal a piece of white paper, a note marked with an official-looking seal.

"'To Bram, Earl of Phantomhive, you have been judged as an enemy to the freedoms of men,'" the earl read. "'You have positioned yourself as a loyal and bloodthirsty dog by George's side and will carry out his oppression and tyranny on command. Consider this visitation your first warning; we have executed your decadent allies. If you fail to yield your activities, your family will be next. Should you persist, you will beg for death from us in the end.' Signed The Knights of Discord, 1st of January, 1777."

I stared at the two of them, both of them planted even glares on Earl Phantomhive. Innocent men would have borne expressions of fear, their bodies trembling. Not these two; both were still under their bonds, calm looks in their eyes. These were men accused of horrid crimes, yet they remained as still and resolute as possible. Young Mr. Wallace, however, was a bit more shaky; less trained in this form of drama most likely.

"This was found on one soldier's body," Earl Phantomhive said, shaking the folio in the faces of the main two men. "You thought this would be an easy hit. You were successful business partners in your forged paperwork after all, getting this invitation for yourselves and your two accomplices was rather easy, wasn't it. Not to mention you presented yourselves as partners in buggery, making you ripe for suspicion for much lesser crimes and thus too obvious to be anything else than presented."

The reference to "partners in beggary" wasn't exactly putting my mind at ease.

"Your presence here has been a series of mistakes," the earl said, "the greatest being the gross underestimation of my household and me in general. Why do you think we set up this party as we did? We put out the bait and you took all of it. We knew about the men lying in wait. My staff includes former spies and military officers; it wasn't hard to discover you four signaling out the window in their directions and your code was embarrassingly easy to decipher. We knew exactly where they would be and when they were coming. We have had eyes on you this entire evening. We know everything from your signaling to which of those you pulled into rooms were actually informants and not drunken men you two defiled."

My blood ran cold and I swallowed hard again. My calm mask was firmly in place but it was the only thing holding me up. He knew, Jacob knew, all these men knew, how many servants and Chinese whores knew? I was fucked, I was done.

No, no, wait…"drunken men you two defiled," I was the victim here. These men were the aggressors, I was simply lured in whilst intoxicated and subject to their acts. There was no blame for anyone but them. That was probably why I was here; the earl and his men were providing justice for one of the victims. Jacob probably insisted on this.

Jacob, however, saw me in that bedroom with Viscount Bellingham. Nothing was going on, but both of us had removed our clothes; the only two people in that room naked were me and him, I had to replace everything after taking that dress off. There had to have been some suspicion. And Comte de Marteille…oh God Jacob was seeing through all of this wasn't he? Finding Lord Aster wouldn't have been difficult either.

I avoided all eye contact with him. My paranoid mind imagined him staring at me, though even he would have known such a simple gesture would have exposed too much.

"I personally don't give a bloody damn about sodomites or their actions, but you have tried to sodomize my country — your country, Mr. Alley and Mr. Wallace," the earl said, leaning into their faces. "You sodomized innocent young men during your acts of treason, all under my roof. The question now is what are we going to do with all of you, but I am sure you all know the answer."

Mr. Wallace gave a small whimper beneath his gag, his body trembled. Hamilton…no Redding was breathing heavily. Boels was stiff as a stone, a calm glare planted on Earl Phantomhive. General Cory pulled out a folio from his coat and produced a series of papers.

"By order of His Majesty, all proven aggressors and conspirators in these acts will be put to death the moment I put on a name and date," Cory said.

He showed the papers; four death warrants were in his hand, all bearing George's signature and official seal. His Majesty wasn't toying around with this; given his position and current events he couldn't afford to. This was Bram's purpose; rooting out enemies and conspiracies and sorting them out in a clean, quiet manner. This is why all these men were here, this is what my brother was a part of.

Boels smirked and snickered a little. Bram planted a tired glare on him.

"Is there anything you wish to say, Mr. Boels?" the earl said. "Silver tongues don't work on us, just remember that."

General Cory untied the gag around Boels' mouth, Boels smacked his lips in response to its removal.

"No trial, no public inquiry, especially not for these British citizens?" he said with a chuckle, his accent now bearing a heavy tinge of Dutch instead of the upper class English manner of speech he was using all night. "You rich men will play judge, jury, and executioner all in the basement of a palatial manor. You English are indeed a nation of tyrants, no wonder why Britannia's slaves revolt."

I think he was asking to get punched, though no one was taking the bait.

"I'm sure every American has relished every opportunity to tear your redcoats limb from limb," Boels said. His gaze focused staring straight at me and then looking at Jacob. "Think of that when you remember your dead brother; think of all the cattle George kept penned up who ripped dear Capt. Sutcliff apart."

A loud chortle escaped from my throat and erupted into shrill laughter. I tried to contain myself but the cackles just poured out of me. All eyes were on me, I tried to stop it to giggles but another wave erupted. I made eye contact with Jacob, seeing him smiling a little; his expression was as if he understood my sudden mirth. I should have kept my mouth shut lest he start spewing incendiaries of a more sensitive nature. Oh bloody hell, everyone in this room knew about my "victimization," why should I worry about what this condemned man might say?

"Could you be any more clichéd?" I said. "Sir, the most offensive statement in this room right now is you lot. You don't even need to open your mouth to accomplish that."

"Truer words were never spoken, Mr. Sutcliff," Earl Phantomhive said. "General Cory I believe we have a way of remedying this."

General Cory now had a pen in his hand and was filling out one of the forms on his folio.

"Yes, your lordship, we do," Cory said. "As an officer of the king, I'll take this one myself."

Cory handed the folio to Mr. Kendrick, then reached to his belt and drew a pistol. Boels simply sneered, eying me for a second before looking forward.

"Any proper last words for the record, Dhr. Boels?" Cory said, checking his pistol.

"My death will only be the beginning," Boels said. "You will only make me a martyr to the cause of true freedom and you will watch your palaces burn in my memory."

Cory raised his pistol and cocked the hammer back.

"Beautiful statement, Carel Boels, beautiful," the general said.

He placed the barrel at the back of his head and pulled the trigger. Boels' head practically exploded with a loud bang; blood and tissue went flying everywhere with the smoke. His angry eyes rolled in the back of his head and his body drooped against the ropes like a wilted flower. He was a rather ugly man in life, the red pouring from his ears and over his face enhanced his features a bit.

Mr. Wallace screamed against his gag, Baron Redding shook violently; his partner's blood and bits of his head were sprinkled over him like specks of brown sugar on oatmeal. General Cory stepped back and pulled a small, leather bag from his belt, presumably his pistol kit.

"That was my bit of official business," the general said, taking out his powder pouch. "Shall I do the rest, or would anyone care to volunteer?"

"Mr. Sutcliff, I believe we spoke about this earlier," Bram said, looking at Jacob.

"We did indeed," Jacob said.

He drew his own pistol from his belt; Wallace flinched, Redding eyed the weapon as sweat poured down his face. Jacob looked at them both with an even expression.

"Let's see who is left; two traitors to the crown, one a bit more involved than the other though both are just as guilty," Jacob said, standing on the middle of the two and crouching down. "Who first?" He stared at Wallace, who whimpered a bit more. "The lieutenant?"

Jacob pressed the barrel to his head, Wallace yelped and tears poured from his eyes. Jacob ran the barrel through his hair, rubbing the back of his ear. I swore I saw a smirk on Jacob's face as he watched this man tremble and sob. He removed the barrel and aimed it at Baron Redding.

"Or shall we give the next honors to the co-conspirator," Jacob said.

The baron tried to stay still and look forward but his whole body trembled violently. Jacob simply stared at him, that smirk becoming a little more apparent for a moment before relaxing.

"Actually I'm a little tired of this one's mewling," Jacob said.

He practically leapt to a stand and aimed into the top of Wallace's head, pulling the trigger. The crown of his head practically disappeared in a burst of red and pink under black smoke. A few drops spattered on Jacob's white shirt, but the rest of it took a sideways trajectory. Wallace's head drooped to the side, a single tear running down his cheek. And I thought only playwrights and novelists could conjure such pathos.

Jacob produced a leather bag from his own belt and reloaded. Redding trembled hard, though his eyes were forward. I saw the calm, scared look of a man who accepted his fate; a man who as ready for death. I wondered if he was seeing the reaper right in front of him. He glanced nervously the side for a moment, looking to meet the patient gaze of Arthur, the nearest man to him, before looking back down.

"Now that leave our second guests of honor," Jacob said, tapping the ball down the barrel. "The true traitor."

He refilled the powder and set everything in its place, raising the pistol in his hand.

"Who among us would enjoy the privilege of enacting proper punishment upon this insult to our country?" Jacob said.

"I'll volunteer."

The words came from my mouth before I had any time for proper thought.

Jacob looked upon me with this little smile and took a step in my direction. I could feel all eyes on me, that only pressed me to take a few more steps forward. I handed Jacob the sword by the hilt. I wasn't entirely comfortable with Jacob being so armed outside of my view, though that was a trifle concern at the moment. He reversed the grip of the pistol and pointed it in my direction. I took hold and pulled it from his hand. The last time…the first time I ever held such a weapon the grip was still warm and wet from being clutched in Reginald Kirkney's trembling hand. I had never fired one, though I didn't need to be an expert marksman to accomplish this shot.

"Grell, are you certain you wish to do this?" Bram said. "You took one man's life this evening. While it may have been in self defense, though such an act carries too much weight."

"I would consider it an honor, my lord," I said. "It is because of this man and his associates that my life was put in such peril. I would be proud as an Englishman and a loyal subject of our king to give this traitor his just reward."

The earl looked at me, then nodded. I stood behind Baron Redding, Lord Hamilton as I knew him first. I was tempted to remove the gag to give him the courtesy of final words, though I really didn't care to hear to whatever he had to say. He looked up at me for a moment, I glared back at him doing what I could to keep my expression somber. The corners of my mouth threatened to quirk upward, though I kept them still.

I took a step back and took a firm grip on the pistol, aiming the barrel at the back of his head. My finger squeezed the trigger; a shower of sparks, smoke, and rich red blood flew forth with a sickening bang as my arm was practically thrown back with the force.

I managed to lift and flex my arm, feeling as if I had been punched in the shoulder. My ears rang loud, though I could hear a few murmurs around me. Lord Hamilton's skull was split open, revealing the mangled pink tissue. I was covered in blood, I could smell its sweetness against the noxious sulfur fumes. Just one shot and he was stiff as a board, all over in an instant. It was such a dramatic moment, though it was but a moment. I was both fascinated by the final fireworks and disappointed they ended so soon.

"And here ends another threat to England," Earl Phantomhive said.

I heard General Cory's pen scratching the last name on the death warrant, keeping everything official.

"Our work here is done," the earl said, looking around the room. "The servants are keeping an eye on the perimeter, though I highly doubt we'll see any more of this. The head has been cut off, any twitching will cease; however we can never be too careful. I will keep everyone updated. A few of us have a few things to take care of, I want the rest of you to go upstairs in small groups. To the Messrs. Sutcliff I will have your trunks brought into the upstairs pantry so you can change out of your bloody clothes. I will be making an announcement to the party of what transpired, follow my lead with any stories and only that."

Head nods went around the room. General Cory was the first to the doors, he opened them and put down the rusted brass stands to keep them open. The rest of us filed out, two at a time until all of us were out of the room. I saw Jacob walk up to Earl Phantomhive and hand him the sword, Bram looked at me for a moment with an expression of concern. Jacob then walked back up to me and we left that room.

I handed the pistol back to Jacob, he took it then took hold of my wrist and raised my hand up with fingers out. I knew what he was looking for and he would find that my hand was as still as could be. Jacob simply smiled and let go of my wrist, replacing the pistol back in its holster. Right now I was too relaxed to care why he did that; the tiredness was creeping up on me, plus I was somewhat giddy.

I took a look back in the room. Arthur was staying where he was as was Mr. Kendrick. I made eye contact with Mr. Pettengill, he greeted me with a smirk. I didn't even want to think on what the hell he was all about. Considering the fact he was still in that room it wasn't too hard to figure out he was one of those with "things to take care of." Perhaps this was the true work of a "collections man." Maybe he was a body collector, an undertaker maybe. Perhaps he was a resurrection man; finding body parts at murder scenes and executions, possibly digging up graves and selling his goods to medical schools for ridiculous amounts of money. Everyone in London's heard some stories but perhaps I met some truth. This made him slightly more interesting.

Mr. Kendrick lifted the doorstops and shut the double doors tight. I lagged behind Jacob for a few steps and took a sneaky peek through the wide crack in the doors. I got a clear view of Arthur; he had some sort of tool in his hand…a silver axe on a long pole.

A silver axe, the same exact weapon from that barmy dream I had just after meeting him. How was this possible? He raised the axe and chopped down.

I practically sprinted from the door across the room to join the rest of the group.


	29. Part 29

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 29**

I was keeping my eye on Jacob during our entire walk back down the corridor. Thankfully he remained a few steps ahead of me, sparing me from making a point to step aside and keep him perpetually in front. I'd be an idiot to walk in front of him now. Leave the back of my own head directly in the direction of a reloaded pistol? No way in hell. I told myself a few times I was in no danger with him; he made his point as did all his little friends. There was still that paranoia that his last task — whether on request of the earl or by his own choosing — was to do away with me amid all the chaos and executions. He had enough reason especially after tonight.

His pistol was staying in his holster during this whole walk, though I continued to eye the butt of it occasionally swinging past Jacob's hip. Not like that kept him from having another just for one purpose. How I grew tired of these silly thoughts; how I grew tired of thinking a consideration I might call a "silly thought" would be the final one that rang true.

One clock on the wall read nearly 5 in the morning. I was just now feeling the weight of fatigue, not like other matters besides my own endurance were weighing me down. The party was officially over by my estimation; I doubted even the rowdiest of carousers would want to stick around after all that nonsense. Oh yes, leaving would mean a captive audience with Jacob in the carriage for a few hours. I was damned either way, wasn't I?

At last we ascended the staircase and were finally into the hallway. I breathed a large sigh of pure relief to at least be more out in the open. Earl Bram soon approached us: our trunks were being moved into the pantry so we could change out of our bloody clothes as soon as possible. After we were changed he was going to formally announce that night's events; keeping with the script of course. Thankfully a few of the co-conspirators were moving about the hallway as well. Jacob would have too much of an audience.

It was only a few minutes later when Joseph told us our trunks were in a single pantry with two sections. We would be in the same room but would have two private areas to freshen up. I wasn't exactly thrilled with this announcement.

Joseph showed us to the pantry by the kitchen, opening the door. Jacob stopped and motioned for me to enter first. I just stood there and did a sweeping if not stiff gesture for him to enter before me. He smiled a little and went in. Not like this was going to help anything, though it was more the principle of the thing now. I gave him a few steps and went in myself.

The pantry was a plain wooden room with black painted shelves stocked with an assortment of dry goods: teas, spices, coffees, tins of chocolate. My trunk was right in the main room. Jacob walked through a small doorway to a room filled with bags of flour where his case likely was.

"I'm just going to change a few things, but I am not getting into a full suit right now," Jacob said. "We have a rather long ride back and if you're as drained as I am right now you'll want to sleep in the carriage in comfort. Hence a full change might not be the wisest decision."

"Sounds like a good plan," I said.

Jacob gave me one last smile, then disappeared into the doorway. I knelt down and opened my travel trunk, keeping half an eye on the other doorway. I could see Jacob's elbow then the side of his leg, though I couldn't see his hands and that bothered me a little. I would just have to keep my ear open for the sound of any suspicious clicking. At least I would be able to see if he came out; if he came at me I wasn't going quietly.

My blood was now cooling and every amount of tension and stress I had successfully held back was now closing in on me. My heart was racing, my nerves raw. I removed my shirt and saw my body coated in sweat. A nice hard drink or two or five sounded rather nice about now.

Neither of us said anything as we changed. I changed out of everything, only putting on a fresh shirt, trousers, and stockings. Everything else was spattered in Lord Hamilton's blood. I was about to put the bloody shirt into my trunk though I took a moment to look on it. The sight of the dark red was soothing somehow; the blood of someone who truly deserved what I gave him. I killed a man a short while ago; the fourth life I had ever taken. This one was in full view of a roomful of men, the opportunity so readily handed to me.

I wasn't a murderer this time, I was a patriot; there was true glory in what I just did. Perhaps Earl Phantomhive or even General Cory would inform His Majesty who it was who volunteered to end the life of this traitor; a simple young man. A young man so disgusted by this treason that he took on the final ghastly responsibility of ending this traitorous baron's existence, an oath to his country on his lips before he pulled the trigger.

This truly made for a lovely story, though for me it was in sentiment only. I placed the bloody shirt in the trunk, getting one passing whiff of the sweet blood. I wanted to savor the opportunity I had been given. Instead I couldn't suppress the feeling of disappointment. This was such a shallow cause, such a hollow sentiment that would get played as something glorious.

Perhaps that was how I viewed the act itself. One squeeze of the trigger and it was over. That was it; a lot of noise and a life ended in a moment. Lord Hamilton, or rather Baron Redding, died under dramatic circumstances; his death itself was a bit lackluster. It felt like a monumental waste.

"Are you all right, brother?" Jacob said.

I looked up and saw him leaning in the doorway, buttoning a blue brocade waistcoat.

"A bit tired, that's all," I said.

I closed the trunk and came to my feet. Jacob's arms hung loosely, his hands clasped together. I merely smiled and walked toward him. He stared at me, I couldn't care less at this point what he was planning if anything.

"I owe you an apology, Grell," he said.

I furrowed my brows a little.

"I feel responsible for all you had to endure tonight," he continued. "You came here for a good time, instead you were faced with a calamity."

This was awfully good natured of him. I was about to tell him there was no need for apologies; you did not know all this would transpire. I held my tongue, now realizing such an assumption may have been grossly inaccurate. Earl Bram mentioned in his taunting that he had anticipated these ruffians would make their move tonight. The party itself was meant to smoke them out.

How much did he share with all of his little friends? How involved was my brother in this whole conspiracy? Why the hell did Jacob bring me here if he knew what was coming?

"Did you know all this would happen tonight?" I asked.

Jacob shifted uncomfortably, I took that as a resounding yes. Naturally he was pulling together his story, but I knew all I needed to know.

"Only a vague warning from the earl," Jacob said. "He told me there was a possibility an adversary might disrupt the party. He didn't elaborate, just told me to be on my highest guard and be ready to take action. It was just a possibility, I only told you to watch who you got drunk around and avoid any isolated corners."

His voice rose slightly with that last sentence, his tone a bit stiffer. I was being rather subtly reprimanded, wasn't I; only he wasn't coming right out and saying anything.

"Alas there was no way you could have understood the full potential danger," Jacob continued. "I myself did not know what would fully transpire this morning, though I feel I should have given you a bit more warning. For that I apologize."

"You were unaware of the full danger, yet you mobilized rather swiftly," I said. "Might I inquire as to why? I want to believe you, brother."

"Yes I understand that factor seems rather suspicious. There is a reality earl does not care to speak about publicly; only with a handful of people of which I am one. Because of both his connections to the king and his connections to the underworld, Earl Phantomhive has amassed a slew of enemies. While tonight's calamity was predicted, there are always risks that his enemies might make a move at any time. He has an emergency plan should this occur during some occasion where he has guests. Myself and a few others have been privy to these plans and have been asked to carry them out in the event of an emergency. This wasn't readiness for one occasion, this was readiness for any threat."

"Would that explain the collective in the basement?" I asked. "All of you allies of the earl as some sort of safety committee."

"It would to a degree," Jacob said. "Everyone in that group including myself is indeed a close ally of the earl. He calls us his 'Evil Nobles;' I'm sure you can appreciate his flair for the dramatic."

"Evil Nobles," what a truly humorous term. Of course it did not apply to any of these pristine gentlemen, it was all in jest naturally.

"Indeed," I said. "Though what of me, am I now one of his 'Evil Nobles?'"

"You are indeed an ally of his, plus you are my brother. You are a bit young to be part of the immediate circle, though only by a year or so. Perhaps once you have turned at least 18 he will pull you in a bit closer to the fray."

I should have been more honored by this assurance than I was. Maybe I would need to hear it from the earl's mouth and not second hand. Of course Jacob had only modest interest in pulling me into this circle, naturally. It did explain why I was dragged down to that basement, I didn't know if I should be relieved or resentful for such a scare. It may have explained why I was here in the first place; I was an ally and not pretty bait. If I told myself that enough perhaps I would believe it.

"Regardless of how close to him you are or are not, this is the reality the earl faces," Jacob said. "This is also the reality faced by anyone who keeps his company, no matter how small or large the occasion. This is the first time something of this magnitude has occurred and if we never do God is merciful. Though I'm hardly one of the faithful, if you get my meaning. Keep this in mind whenever receiving any invitation from him; be ready for anything."

Notice how "It would be best to carefully consider any of his invitations" were not the words from Jacob's mouth. Naturally reputation came before personal safety, or all these "Evil Nobles" were so fearless. In truth I wasn't all that concerned for either under these circumstances. This was more annoyance at the seeming lack of options than concern for any potential peril. I did take consideration that my brain was functioning on elevated nerves and fatigue right now; I might have a different thought on this whole matter when my senses returned.

"I shall take heed of this advice," I said with a nod. "As tempted as I would be to pity his lordship, I understand this is the hazard of such an important position. Perhaps the intrigue is its own perk."

I realized I may have spoke a bit inappropriately, though Jacob gave me a warm smile in return.

"You already know him so well," Jacob said with a chuckle.

He put a hand over my shoulder and patted my arm.

"Come then, let's get this nonsense over with and go home as soon as possible," he said.

I smiled a little. I really wanted him to get his hand the hell off me, though my desperation was significantly muted.

"Let's go then," I said.

He remove the arm from my shoulder and walked past me, I still wasn't staying in front of him for anything. He opened the pantry door and walked out, I followed behind becoming a little more relaxed. I was happy when we were back in the hallway. Now there were witnesses, though it was clear his ideal window of opportunity to do such a deed had passed. Perhaps I could actually breathe now.

I just had to laugh a little inside; here I was thinking I'm so brave and fearless of death, then the moment I suspect a real threat my hair is standing on end. Was this cowardice; no it was my own survival instinct. Perhaps I was indeed like any other human fearing for his mortality, though my threshold of fear was a bit higher than others. Maybe this was for the best; such a fear prepared me to fight to the end. There was a reason why this was called a "survival instinct."

As we walked further down the corridor, I heard the murmurs and occasional yells of several other people. By now Bram likely allowed the masses out of their hiding places and herded them into one place for that grand announcement he was going to make. We made our way back to the main thoroughfare where the remaining party guests walked through toward one location. The closer I got the more I heard calm conversations, curses at the whole situation or even the earl himself, a few whimpers, a bit of yelling demanding immediate explanations, and the odd bit of merry laughter. The cattle were being let out of their pens at last; it was interesting to see who was walking on shaking feet after this storm. I had to admit my own legs were upright on learned instinct and only that.

My head ached, my eyes were dry with fatigue, my thoughts were a jumbled mess; not was not the time to try to make any rhyme or reason of what just happened. Woe for my brain, I tried regardless. Dissecting possible conspiracies is so much easier with an unclear mind. Was Jacob telling me the whole truth, or were his intentions in bringing me here a bit les honorable? Did he use me as some sort of bait for the hostiles? A seemingly naïve boy would make an easy target, hell this was part of our conversation in the carriage on the way over here.

The herd moved into the grand ballroom, I guess this was where Bram would make his speech. My gaze wandered around each of the other tired party guests. The English working girls were there as well, mostly huddled in their own corners though many took the arms of dashing clients. The Chinese girls were scattered around the room; some drinking, some smoking long pipes, some fanning themselves, all of them looking gorgeous whilst doing so.

I then saw Viscount Bellingham on the other side of the room sitting in a couch, lo and behold his uncle sat right beside him with a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was nice to see Lord Aster survived the ordeal, though I lacked any interest in going over and checking on the health of either of them. I left my two partners in sin alone.

Yes, all of us were partners in sodomy; as were Mr. Boels and Baron Redding. What was that the earl said? They knew "which of those you pulled into rooms were actually informants and not drunken men you two defiled." Was that how they managed to locate the conspirators? Would these men have engaged in such acts with themselves or just one or two others at this party? Would it have been easier to hide their actions amidst a steady stream of young men wandering into their web? Naturally these were all coincidental victims, or perhaps a few documented buggerantos were stocked in the party like trout in a pond. Of course Jacob would have thrown me into the fishing hole with the others.

I lightly slapped my cheek to bring me a bit more to reality. I truly shouldn't have been thinking this hard in my present state. If any of this still lived in my mind later then perhaps it was a valid concern, otherwise all of this was pure nonsense. How I wanted to get the hell out of there. I didn't give a damn about any explanations or speeches, I heard all those already and wasn't interested in another retelling of this sordid tale.

I spotted other members of the conspiracy in their respective dark corners around the room. Naturally none of them occupied the same spot of floor, they were all scattered. Mr. Tao was leaning against the wall with a pipe, one of his dangerous ladies clinging tightly to his arm. Mr. Kendrick was pouring himself a drink on the other side of the room. The Italian fellow was sitting in a chair chatting with a few of the other party guests. I didn't see General Cory, he was likely finishing up with the guests of honor with Arthur.

Surprisingly, there was Arthur standing on the other side of the room with a cup of tea. I would have thought he would still be in the basement finishing with his clients. Perhaps it truly did not take that long to chop up a body, let alone four. Perhaps he only took what he wanted and went upstairs for a cup. Maybe he was on break and going back down in a little bit. This speculation was rather entertaining, it somewhat lightened my mood.

Earl Bram wasn't keeping the agitated masses waiting for long. I saw him emerge from a side door, yells rising and guests rushing over to him on cue. He gave an upraised hand asking for peace as he walked to the middle of the room. He pulled out a chair from the side and stood upon it, now towering over the rest of the masses. One push and he would have been tumbling, though no one seemed to be aiming…now at least.

"Attention," he shouted across the room, his booming voice practically echoing off the walls.

All eyes fell on him and all talking ceased.

"My friends, I offer all of you my sincerest apologies for the events that transpired this morning," Bram continued. "This morning this festive celebration of the New Year was attacked by an enemy power; an infamous international hooligan bearing a standard of political freedom who was nothing but a brute. In your midst tonight were four men who snuck into my house under false names and even falser pretenses. Outside lying in wait were twenty ruffians under their command waiting for a signal out a window to attack this house and everyone inside as a direct action against our king and our country."

I saw eyes widen around the room, men twittered amongst themselves as the English whores gasped. Earl Bram put up hands to bring attention back to him.

"By the grace of God and by the swift efforts of many able people, every single one of these animals have been put down."

Cue the calls around the room for the names of the traitors, mixed with some other calls asking if any traitors were left in our midst. Earl Phantomhive put up another hand and all talk quieted. This man certainly commanded attention.

"All of the conspirators were rounded up to face proper justice," he said. "Those among you who thought you were merely surrounded by servants of this house were mistaken, I have in my staff the most able people who were able to recognize suspicious behavior and report everything back to me. The leader of this you may have known as Mr. David Wilson accompanied by his business partner Lord Henry Hamilton, neither of them were who they appeared. Both of them were exposed as traitors, along with two of their minions."

A few shouts went around the room of "Buggerers!" and "Sodomite bastards!" I felt the sweat bead down my back. All it would take was a few shouts of more names; anyone spotted clinging to another man a bit too closely, anyone who looked funny, anyone someone didn't like. All it would take was one shout, even a murmur to set off the mob. I had a taste of what poor Cinna the Poet felt in "Julius Caesar;" perhaps I could get in a few shouts of "I am Cinna the poet, I am not Cinna the conspirator" before the angry mob did me in anyway. It was a nice distraction that kept me from shaking in terror.

"All four of these men have been dealt with in the name of the king," Earl Phantomhive shouted, ending all exclamations from the crowd. "All who had any part in this are now dead. Do not concern yourself with accusations or paranoia, there are only friends in our midst right now; I know this as the fullest truth."

A few applauded. I wanted to kiss Earl Bram's feet for this. I allowed myself a deep exhalation of relief, my peripheral vision catching full view of Jacob staring right at me. I didn't acknowledge the look nor did I look further to see his expression. My muscles tensed once more, though the feeling of dread was not as strong. I was done fearing what knowledge or speculation he had of things.

"There were a few losses among us," the earl continued. "I am saddened to report the death of Sir Richard Carle, an old associate of mine and a longtime loyal servant to our past and present kings until his honorable retirement. It also saddens me to report the death of Mr. Benedict Jasper, an astute young businessman and with whom I had only been acquainted once before tonight. May they find peace in the Heavenly Kingdom and may God rest their souls. I will ask for a moment of silence for both of them."

We all bowed our heads appropriately for a few seconds. I as pleased that the others showed such great respect. Earl Bram raised his head and the rest of the company went back to their ease.

"Both these gentlemen are being attended to by their respective friends at this party as well as the watchful eye of the staff. As heartbroken as I am by any deaths under this roof, the Almighty has shown us mercy; there were no other deaths in this party and no serious injuries. Every other guest and servant lives, for that we are most blessed."

A round of applause rose up from the crowd. I clapped heartily as well.

"We owe our lives to many people tonight," Bram continued. "To my most able staff."

Another round of applause went up, a few of the servants in our midst stopped and bowed. Joseph put a hand to his chest and nodded.

"To the Red Lotus Brides and the Kunlun Company."

Applause again, this time with a few shrill whistles for the ladies. Tsing Tao bowed and waved, though his ladies showed no emotion or response other than a few turns of the head.

"And to all of you who fought and defeated these attackers yourself: Messrs. Robert Watson, David Adams, Claus Schwartzman, Andrew Harriman, my friend Giancarlo Ezzo…"

I saw the Italian fellow get up from his chair and bow.

"…Abram Haley, Marcel de Laurent, and young Mr. Grell Sutcliff."

I did step out and give a polite bow. People around me clapped and cheered, I saw Jacob clapping as well with a smile. It was like being on stage, only my great acting was taking a man's life rather horribly. These civilized men amused me so.

"This matter is officially over," the earl said. "I do have men scoping the nearby roads to be assured that there is no one left to deal with. All of you have been through such a horrible ordeal, and for that I cannot apologize enough. For those who wish to leave here, I ask patience for the next two hours."

A few of the party guests were not happy with this announcement and vocalized their displeasure.

"This is all for your safety," Earl Bram yelled. "The sun will have fully risen and by then all the roads to the main road will have been thoroughly searched for highwaymen. We will serve breakfast and have plenty of refreshments available. If any of you wish to remain here for the day and get a proper sleep, accommodations are available. Simply speak to Joseph or any one of the housemen and a room will be made available."

The earl stepped off the chair and back to the floor, immediately rushed by party guests.

"What is your pleasure?" Jacob asked me.

"Personally I'd rather leave as soon as possible," I said.

Jacob nodded.

"We'll wait until the roads have been inspected and the coast is declared clear, then we'll make our course for London," he said.

I nodded.

"Breakfast sounds good," I said.

"Oh that it does," Jacob replied.

Breakfast was a bit of an informal occasion. A scrumptious meal with eggs, toast, sausages, and all the fixings was served in the kitchen, though people were free to take their plates wherever. It wasn't exactly a civilized meal though no one was in the mood for etiquette. Some guests looked absolutely horrid and with good reason. Some of the Chinese ladies took up traditional instruments from their homeland and played a little. Many just disappeared into bedrooms; some with women on their arm. The rest of us were mostly quiet save for some fleeting conversation.

The earl asked us to wait two hours before travel was cleared. By the end of the second hour a few men were getting agitated. I did see the earl going around to people, eventually stopping at us to say they were checking an extra stretch of road to make sure all was safe for travel. I was content with this answer. My earlier agitation had relaxed. All was still settled in the house. Jacob was as polite as could be with me, engaging in only idle chit chat. Yes he could have some words with me later, though I truly didn't care right now.

I spent the time chatting with people and lost track of all time. I was barely paying attention to the hour when Earl Phantomhive made an announcement that the roads were clear. Anyone who wished to leave was free to do so now. It was around 8:30 in the morning now, I was more than ready to leave this place and return home.

Within the half hour a member of the Phantomhive staff had both our trunks set on the floor of the lobby. Simon walked in, looking nice and rested. He greeted us with "It warms my heart to see you both all right."

He said he spent the evening in the staff quarters with the rest of the guests' servants. No hooligans broke in through that wing; they only knew something was amiss after seeing the Phantomhive servants spring to attention one by one. Even then he simply flopped back to bed trusting all was being taken care of. Later Joseph informed them of the calamity in the rest of the house. Apparently the ruffians only entered areas where they were signaled to be; our friendly anarchists only cared about the rich guests and not their servants.

Finally Simon was taking our trunks to the carriage. We tracked down Earl Phantomhive to bid him farewell. I received a warm handshake and another round of thanks for my bravery.

"I'll make sure my next gathering will be a bit quieter," he said with a dark chuckle. "I do hope this will not keep you from answering my future invitations."

"Perish the thought," I said, and it was with sincerity.

At last we said our goodbyes and were finally on our way to the door. There were a few parting greetings from Mr. Tao and Senor Ezzo along with a few other people as we left. I didn't see either Viscount Bellingham or Lord Aster around, it was probably for the best. Jacob was out the door first, I was but a meter from it when I saw Arthur approach me.

"Alas I fear we met again under rather peculiar circumstances," he said.

"Hardly your fault," I said.

Earlier this morning this man was chopping up bodies. I reminded myself of that but it was barely a trifle to me now. It just made this fellow a bit more interesting.

"Hopefully sometime we can have a drink in a much calmer environment," he said.

I chuckled a bit and nodded. Why the hell not, this guy wasn't so bad; fucking bizarre but everyone has their peculiarities. I know I certainly did. Besides this man watched me shoot someone in the head earlier, I was hardly in a position to judge.

"I would look forward to it, friend," I said.

We shook hands with one final laugh in spite of everything.

"Go back to London and continue your successes, Grell Sutcliff," he said. "I know we'll be watching your future with interest."

I could only smile in response. I gave him another handshake and pulled away with a departing nod. He walked away and waved. My brain was too fuzzy with neglected sleep to even try to figure out just what the hell that was supposed to mean. It was typical of the boy, perhaps he prided himself in having an eerie air. I wasn't going to count too much of what he said as a threat unless I had great reason.


	30. Part 30

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 30**

A servant walked over and opened the door for me, I gave the man my thanks and exited the Phantomhive manor at last. The sun was shining, there was a small nip in the air though nothing too unbearable. Our carriage was lined up among several others, several other servants and masters readying to depart. Simon saw me approach and opened the carriage door for me to enter, I did so and took my seat across from Jacob with a nod.

This was the part I should have been dreading; two hours back to London as a captive audience with Jacob. My tiredness wasn't allowing me to care about any of that right now and I was content keeping it a trifle.

"I was wondering when you would finally get out here," Jacob said. "You seem to be rather popular."

"The curse of being so wonderful, I suppose," I said with a little smile.

"Oh woe for you," Jacob chuckled.

Simon closed the door, I settled back in my seat.

"As much as I could banter about our evening for hours, I'd rather do so while rested." I said. "I'd like to spend the ride back catching up on some sleep."

"Funny coincidence, I had the exact same plans," Jacob said. "I know I haven't gotten any rest tonight, don't know about you."

He gave a dirty snicker and gently slapped my knee. I only laughed along, trying to mask my tenseness.

The carriage finally pulled off, I watched the Phantomhive manor pass by though the window until it was hidden by the tall shrubs lining the path. As we progressed down the road, I saw a couple men on horseback bringing their steeds to a trot along the side of the road. A few guards posted to make sure all departing guests were truly safe, I appreciated the earl's thoroughness. As we turned onto the main road a few more men on horseback were directing carriages, I saw General Cory as one of them. Jacob and I gave the man a parting wave as we turned onto the main road, receiving a tip of the hat in response.

Both of us settled in our seats after that. I could feel the hand of sleep gradually pulling me away, though one glance told me it already claimed Jacob. He was fully reclined in his seat, his feet under my seat and the back of his head buried in the cushion. It wasn't even five minutes before I rested my head against the wall and was gone from the world as well. A few times I would be shook to momentary wakefulness by a crag in the road or a sharp turn, but I would fall right back to sleep soon after.

I was finally awakened by a nudge, looking up to see Jacob fully upright and periodically looking out the window. I looked outside myself, seeing the life of London passing all around us. We were soon in Westminster and on Jacob's street, his building then appearing through the window.

"Get some rest today, we'll get back to the routine tomorrow morning as usual," he said.

I nodded. We had only been gone a day, yet it felt like so much longer than that.

Simon pulled the carriage up to the curb and opened the door.

"Happy New Year, brother," Jacob said.

"Happy New Year to you as well," I said with a smile.

He left the carriage, Simon closed the door and I felt the shift and tapping as he removed Jacob's trunk from the roof. I watched as both of them entered the building, sleep threatening once again though I preferred to hold it off until I was in my cozy bed. Simon returned to take me to my apartment. I could hear my bed calling me the moment we pulled up to the building. He opened the door for me and I pried my stiff body from the seat, my legs finding their way to the curb. Simon removed my trunk from the roof and walked with me into the building, escorting me into my apartment and then dropping off my trunk with a parting greeting.

At last he left. I put on my bedclothes and drew the curtains, practically crashing into my bed and falling into a gorgeous sleep. I gradually opened my eyes and shifted in bed to a totally dark room, no beams of light shone through the curtains. The clock on the wall read 7, I had indeed slept heartily. I was not at all interested in spending my whole day in bed, especially with returning to work the next morning.

I changed into some simple clothes and decided to track down my theater chaps, finding them in our usual pub right after the Wednesday rehearsal. I received a cheer upon being spotted, Colin walked right over to me and put a pint in my hand.

"My apologies for missing practice, you wouldn't believe how much stuffy businessmen like to carouse," I said.

"Oh you'll have to share the details," Colin said.

"And a few drinks," George shouted from across the room. "Consider it a tax."

A few laughs went around the place. I happily paid my tax with a round for everyone. "Generous holiday spirit" I called it.

"Now a toast for 1777," Colin declared, raising his glass. "May good life, good fun, and good friends bless all of us."

We raised our glasses, going around the room and clinking them together with handshakes and pats on the shoulder. This toast was more real. This was such a refreshing moment; I'd take this over any lavish parties or intrigues of "Evil Nobles" anytime.

We all parted around 11, many of us had work the next day. If only I could stay with these chaps longer instead of getting ready to put on my other costume the next morning.

Waking up the following day was horrible. How I truly dreaded returning to all that was "normal." Then there was the fact I would be a captive audience with Jacob. He seemed to enjoy springing "serious discussions" on me en route to work. By the time I stepped out of the building, I really didn't care anymore. He may as well get the serious talk out of the way.

I stepped into the carriage. There were a couple quips of "Today might seem downright boring for you after yesterday," but that was it. The rest was small talk; the regular chatter of business, no mentions of the party. I allowed myself to relax a little and put the thought out of my mind. I wouldn't concern myself with such a possibility until it actually occurred.

I once again had to remind myself when I walked in the office that I had been away from the place for just a day. Tuesday was normal, why shouldn't today be the same? I was now back into plans and forms and meetings. A little over a day ago I was taking down hoary enemies of the crown in the midst of a clandestine gathering of noblemen. Everything "normal" felt bizarre.

The parting conversation with Arthur crossed my mind more than a few times amidst the discussions and documenting. "We'll be watching your future with great interest." It was only now when I tried to figure out what that was supposed to mean. Maybe I fascinated him somehow, considering what he saw me do in that basement and his "collections" work, perhaps his interest was dark intrigue.

Maybe he wanted to recruit me into his operation, do the books and tallies for all the body parts he collected. I doubted the pay was all that good, or at least not as good as where I was now. Still perhaps it was best for me to keep all my options open for the moment my family did decide I was too much of a liability. Then again maybe working with the dead all day was more entertaining then farm equipment. I heard once that undertakers are rather well paid, though this was a quip over drinks from some random bloke at a party a while ago.

By the end of the day my mind turned to my grand return to the stage that night. The holiday break was over, I had been studying my lines and practicing my blocking. My heart was pounding with the thought of getting on that stage again, finally playing a more thrilling role besides a variation on myself. I was counting down the minutes until 5when I would finally be out of here.

The last hour was a bit busier, thankfully I didn't realize it was the end of the day until looking up at the clock. I settled my papers and was practically sprinting out of that office, Jacob following close behind me.

"You have a rather happy occasion tonight don't you," he said as we went in the carriage.

"I've been waiting for this so," I said.

Conversation in the carriage mostly involved preparing for tonight; him asking what kinds of rehearsals and exercises I do for this. He seemed genuinely curious. At last his street came into view, I would have a few moments alone in the carriage to remember my lines before going home and doing some brush ups.

"What time are you expected at the theater?" he asked.

"6 o'clock as usual," I said, remembering I told him this once but he had probably forgotten it. "Basic rehearsals plus getting into costume and make-up."

"In about forty-five minutes then," Jacob said, looking out the window as we pulled up to his building. "Grell could you spare about fifteen minutes to come inside? There is a quick matter I would like to discuss with you."

I looked at him puzzled; what the bloody hell did he have to say to me now? My time was rather valuable. The realization settled on me like a cloud of locusts; oh hell, I had actually forgotten about this.

"I could spare that much time," I said.

I could barely spare that much time, though I wasn't exactly going to ask Jacob for an alternate appointment. I probably had no choice in the matter, though it was for the best. Get this bollocks over with now; I was tired of watching my back. If the bastard meant to kill me he may as well get it over with; dead now or dead later was still dead. I could still get to the theater at 6:30 without anyone noticing anything amiss, if I wasn't there at all someone would certainly notice. This was the piss end of having a double-life, there was no "Richard Morris" to ask around about.

"I won't keep you long, I promise," Jacob said.

I'd probably be at the bottom of the Thames before dinner, especially if he already contacted Arthur.

The carriage stopped and Simon opened the door, both of us then stepped out. Jacob told Simon that I was stopping by for a moment, in fifteen minutes I would be back out and Simon was to take me wherever I instructed him. It was a nice gesture, though I didn't take it as any sort of indicator of his plans. We walked into the building, the first time in a rather long while I had been back at Jacob's townhouse. His butler Benjamin greeted me warmly. Jacob instructed him to leave us be in the lounge; he didn't want anyone bothering us or even lingering around the room until he called or if the doors opened.

We walked into the main lounge, Benjamin closed the doors behind us. I was a captive audience now, though the same was true of Jacob.

"Help yourself to a drink," he said.

I went right to the small bar off to the side and grabbed a bottle of cognac, popping the cork and pouring myself a glass. I gave the contents a cursory sniff.

"It's not poisoned," Jacob said with a chuckle.

I gave a dark chuckle back. He walked up to the bar and poured a glass of sherry, I barely gave him a glance before walking to a plush blue chair and taking a seat.

"I know your time is valuable, Grell, and I know you have a prior engagement tonight," Jacob said, sipping his drink and walking over to a chair across from me. "However I did not want to wait too long before addressing this matter. I figured the sooner the better."

I sipped my drink and reclined in my chair.

"If it is a matter of great importance I would rather it were addressed in swift time," I said.

Yes enough introductions, get this shit over with.

Jacob took a seat in his chair and took a slow drink. At first I was a bit annoyed with the dramatic pause, though perhaps he was looking for the best words. This was hardly relaxing.

"At some point I do want to have a more formal discussion of what happened during that party," Jacob said. "Though there is one matter that has been troubling me; a matter that I would rather clarify as soon as possible to spare any intrigue or speculation between us."

Here it comes.

"Earl Phantomhive made a reference to a number of young men who Boels and Redding set themselves upon."

I sipped my drink with a calm hand though my heart was pounding.

"He informed me earlier that Joseph was keeping an eye on both of them for the better part of the evening. Apparently Joseph observed the baron approaching a few young, mostly intoxicated men, lightly persuading them to enter different rooms, followed by rather perverse sounds."

Listening to Jacob talk about "perverse sounds" among men was somewhat entertaining. Naturally not as entertaining as listening to Matthew try to wrap his words around such immoralities, though this was clearly unfamiliar territory for Jacob.

"You must understand that Joseph was a scout amongst his people, the Iroquois I believe the name was," Jacob continued, his grossly French pronunciation of the tribal name (or rather the colonialist revision of the name) even more amusing. "His ears are trained to recognize the slightest of sounds; understand the softest of conversations to recognize friend and foe. He was able to hear any whispered conspiracies amidst the din. The earl took me aside and informed me in the utmost privacy that you were observed entering a room with Baron Redding, the sounds that reached Joseph's keen ears were not ones of polite conversation. Not conspiracies of course, but nothing civil either if you get my meaning."

I looked down at my glass, swirling the contents. Jacob kept the silence, though I could feel his eyes boring through me. He already knew that part, why hide it

"I get your meaning perfectly, and it's an accurate assumption," I said. "Don't think it's something I'm proud of."

He sighed hard.

"I did tell you before we got there…"

"To not get into any isolated corners with unfamiliar characters," I said. "Oh yes, I remember that now; I clearly didn't heed the warning."

"But these men were the worst sort of predator," he continued, his tone somewhat apologetic. "You were not aware of the full capabilities of such men, and for that you bear no blame."

"I'm pleased you see it that way."

"Words cannot express my regret for what you endured," he said.

I simply nodded in recognition of his "understanding" words.

"Both of them are dead, you ended Redding's life with your own hand. I know you suffered what no man should and I do hope you have your justice"

"I do," I said.

In my head I instantly concocted a speech about recovering and moving on from such violation.

"However…"

And immediately imagined crumpling the paper of said speech.

"I must admit, dearest brother, I have reason to suspect this was not the first time you have found yourself in such a compromising position amongst gentlemanly company."

I tried to keep from laughing. I had been waiting for this for months.

"I am aware of the seriousness of this insinuation, but as your guardian and one of your benefactors it is in my interests to mind your conduct. It is not my place to speculate the circumstances that lead you to Boels and Redding's web, however I found the attire of both you and Viscount Bellingham — or should I say the lack thereof — a bit suspicious. This wasn't my first suspicion. Your trip to Paris was my first; those little personal visits with Comte de Marteille…"

I just couldn't hold it anymore. I rose from my seat chortling like an idiot, walking to the bar though doubling over and slapping my knee a few times in laughter. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jacob staring at me with this goofy smirk.

"You laugh because I'm spouting idiocies or you laugh because I'm hitting obvious truths?" Jacob said with a chuckle.

I just continued giggling, though I was able to walk to the bar with little interruption. I picked up the bottle of cognac and poured myself a refill; I must have been sucking the stuff down in my nervousness. A small light beam of realization was shining through the fog in my brain reminding me how truly serious this situation was.

"I laugh because of how keenly observant you are, brother" I said with a clearing sigh.

I knew this speech was coming, did I know what I would do in its event? I took another swig of my drink, feeling the sting down my throat. If I wasn't careful I would be too drunk to go on stage, though perhaps there would be no stage tonight or ever. He did say no one was to linger around the room. Would anyone notice any screaming?

"That bottle will do you no good either," Jacob said.

I chuckled a little; he was right getting drunk wouldn't solve anything. Then I looked down and saw my hand clutching the neck with an upside down grip. I smirked despite myself and let go of the bottle, turning around. Jacob now had a pocket pistol in his hand pointed to the ceiling, a light smile on his lips.

"Does that have an intended purpose?" I said, motioning toward the pistol.

"I would ask the same of that bottle of vintage," he said. "Though I have a bit of an upper hand as we both see."

I sneered a little. I couldn't tell if he were calling me defenseless or if he was expressing a little unease.

"There's an old saying that a fine line separates men from beasts," Jacob continued, sipping his drink with his left hand whilst the pistol remained poised in his right. "I personally believe this is half-true. There's another line that separates men from statues. Most of our family members, for example, are content to be living embodiments of hollow perfection. I abhor that personally. You on the other hand have a bit of the opposite problem; not an insurmountable one as you've shown, though a problem nonetheless."

"Not an 'insurmountable' problem? Should I be relieved?"

"You are not a dog, Grell, and I have no intentions of putting you down like one. Let's clear the air on that right now."

"I'm sorry but after seeing your manner with Mr. Wallace the thought did occur to me that you wouldn't think twice."

"And upon seeing your manner with Baron Redding, not to mention our dear nephew, perhaps even that ruffian you carved to mince the same thought occurred to me. Hence why I prepared myself."

I snickered a little in spite of myself.

"I see now," I said, taking a sip from my glass. "When you pull me aside to confront me on my sinful ways, making some rather strong accusations, you'd rather be prepared should I not like what I'm hearing."

"I'm pleased you understand my rationale," he said, taking a long sip of his own drink. "I will not use this unless you give me reason to."

"Might I ask what constitutes as reason? I am in a bit of a vulnerable position if you didn't notice. I'm the one being accused of ungodly actions."

He sipped his drink and stared at me.

"Are you guilty of such actions?" he asked.

Now was the time to deny everything, but it would have been wasted breath. I was tired of playing this game. I didn't care anymore if I was giving myself a death sentence or cursing myself to bastardization. I took a few steps forward, his grip on the pistol did not change at all and he kept it pointed at the ceiling. I leaned into his face with a sneer.

"I am indeed," I said.

Jacob stared at me, the corners of his mouth quirking to a smirk as he lightly nodded. I backed off a few steps, taking another sip.

"I appreciate your honesty," he said. "Please spare me any specifics. I don't want to be forced to use them against you later by this country's prudish doctrines."

My smile relaxed a bit.

"Prudish doctrines?" I said somewhat incredulously.

He smiled wider, a right shit-eating smirk. He loosened his grip on the pistol and lowered it, placing it in his coat pocket.

"Sit down, brother," he said.

I eyed him cautiously whilst walking back to my chair. He reclined a little more in his seat, I just sat back down.

"Let me tell you a little more about my philosophies in this life, Grell," Jacob said. "I am not a proper Christian by any definition; I know that is speaking the obvious to you. Clearly you are not one yourself, that is something both of us have closely in common."

I nodded a little in response with half a smirk.

"As I told you, there is a fine line between men and statues," he continued. "The laws of men are not made by men but cowardly, ignorant beings more akin to pristine monuments to men than men themselves. These beings represent what men once were, not what they are in perpetuity. They will never be happy unless all of us are bronzed in the name of their false morals as they are. We, on the other hand, are free; free of these limitations, free from these rules, free from these disgusting expectations. We are far more intelligent and more enlightened than any of these 'moral' things. On the other end, however, are beasts. Beasts have no morals yes, but they also have no intelligence, no civility, and no control."

I snickered a little.

"No, you are no beast, brother; that wasn't my point. My point was that anyone who straddles perfectly in the middle, any upright man who savors all his freedoms yet remains a gentleman is far more moral and enlightened than any of these 'proper Christians.' Sometimes we fall to either side, though to retain a balance is a delicate skill which very few can achieve."

"And indeed I have fallen a bit on the beastly side as you know," I said with a nod.

"Yes but you have remained a gentleman," Jacob replied, tipping his glass in my direction. "Now what I am going to say will likely stun you; I personally bear no personal or moral objection to your fancies."

My mouth dropped open. I wasn't hearing this; this had to be a dream, or perhaps nothing was this perfect.

"Whether you view this as true Grecian love or a simple pleasure of the flesh, I have no quarrel with any of it. It is far from my fancy yes, but that is simply my tastes. Alas, the statues have imposed their rules on the rest of us."

I believe I found the catch.

"Though this does not mean we have to be bound by them."

His meaning was becoming clearer and clearer.

"Just appear to maintain them," I said. "Flout the rules with great subtlety, yet not give into a beastly nature."

"And keep your reputation in the society on which such rules have been pressed," Jacob said, rising a little in his seat and staring straight at me.

I nodded in understanding.

"Reputation is everything for us, as you are painfully aware," Jacob said, his tone much more serious. "Otherwise we are free to do anything. That is my only task for you. I bear no judgments on your actions, continue doing what pleasures you, but please bear in mind your family's reputation. I have worked too hard to build us up where we are now. I will lose nothing to a few familial indiscretions; I repeat nothing."

I stared at him, smirking a little. Now the teeth are bared, the rules of engagement completely laid out.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Jacob," I said.

"And in turn you will have nothing to fear from me."

A merry smile came over his face; the same smile he wore when he caressed Harold Wallace's ear with the barrel of a pistol. I nodded, finishing my drink and looking up at the clock. It had been about fifteen minutes.

"Perfect timing, I'd say," Jacob said, rising from his seat.

I came to my own stand, putting the glass on a side table. I then shook Jacob's hand.

"Thank you for this talk, brother; this certainly cleared my mind," I said.

"Do not feel you have to hide from me, I only wish for your happiness," he said.

He escorted me to the carriage with a warm wave. I gave him one back as Simon opened the door and I stepped in. I wanted to be away from there, but the feeling was not as desperate. I instructed Simon to take me back to my house; I still was not fond of the idea of coming to the theater in a carriage and an expensive outfit.

My heart was racing, my hands shook, I tried to keep from thinking on that conversation lest it put me in an ill mood. I did feel so much lighter; a looming specter was only a thin shadow. The secret was out; whether this would ruin me or have no effect was meaningless. Jacob knew everything and he seemingly didn't care, at least as long as the family's reputation remained intact.

Did I trust Jacob any more? I couldn't afford to; how was I to be assured he wasn't going to write a letter to Matthew with all the details of our conversation? Because he couldn't afford to lose me; that was the whole purpose of that talk. Why hand me to Matthew when he could take care of me himself? Such was now the lingering threat; such was now my side of the bargain. If my actions dishonor our family, no if they even threaten to dishonor the family then there will be no mercy.

I somewhat had my peace with this by the time I arrived back at my apartment. I left the carriage with a little spring in my step and rushed upstairs. I changed swiftly into some more common clothes and was on my horse for the theater.

How good it felt to enter that building once again. All the backstage bustle, being shoved into rehearsal and makeup was glorious.

An hour and a half later I took that stage once again, standing in front of my adoring audience for what felt like the first time in an eternity. This was my paradise; a paradise almost lost to me several times over the course of this week. The hurly burly was done, the battle fought and won, so sayeth the Witches of the Scottish King; the same held true for me.

Perhaps I was a different man than I was a week ago, though I was where I needed to be now. That's all that mattered in the end.


	31. Part 31

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 31**

A week after the party Jacob invited me to dinner at his house to discuss some business. For the first time I did not fear such an invitation and went in with steady breath and even pulse. I was almost certain the topic of this "business" would be my preparation for university. Jacob and Matthew both had been adamant about my tutoring and preparation after the turn of the new year. In the midst of all the calamitous holidays, I had nearly forgotten it though I must have kept the knowledge in the back of my mind to prepare myself.

It was drinks and pleasant conversations at Jacob's townhouse. Then dinner started and he got down to business.

"Now that the holiday festivities are behind us, it is time to seriously discuss what lies ahead for you this year," Jacob said between bites of roast lamb.

"The path to university, oh I certainly remembered," I said.

"Good good. In fact I have arranged a tutelage for you."

I sipped my wine and tried not to roll my eyes. At least he was getting this business out of the way.

"A friend of a friend put me in contact with a very reputable instructor. His name is James Finley, he was a public school teacher for most of his life until his retirement seven years ago. Since then he has worked as a tutor and has become rather in demand for families of title. One of his specialties is working with older students of independent learning, such as yourself, and helping them prepare for university entrance exams. He is a very fair gentleman and I am sure you two will work together fine."

"I certainly look forward to meeting Mr. Finley," I said.

"I am pleased to hear that. The two of you will have to work out a decent schedule, considering your work and your theater engagements. I was thinking maybe a few hours a week, enough to get you prepared for exams."

"I am sure we can negotiate something reasonable."

"How about I have him come to your place this Saturday afternoon to get introduced. If I recall you are free until 6 o'clock."

"Correct, and I will be most pleased to meet him then."

Jacob nodded with enthusiasm and grabbed another slice of bread,

"That leads me to my next question, have you given any thought as to what school you wish to attend?" Jacob said dipping his knife into the butter dish.

I chewed a morsel of my lamb and pondered the question. The truth was I hadn't given the matter any thought. I had barely given thought to going to university let alone which one I would attend.

"I confess I have not," I said, swallowing my food and sipping my wine. "My mind has been rather occupied with other matters, as you can guess."

"Understandable," Jacob replied with a nod. "Though now is a good time to start giving it some thought. The agreement was for you to be enrolled in university this autumn, meaning you should be prepared to take exams during the summer. This should give you a few months of general schooling before having to decide what university you would prefer to ready yourself for their exams; Mr. Finley is well versed in the examinations for both Oxford and Cambridge. Which brings me to another matter that Matthew and I discussed at length: you are welcome to attend any university you wish, as long as it is on English shores."

I nodded, taking a bite of potato. It was a reasonable request, though I now realized it was somewhat limiting.

"Afraid I'll cause an international incident?" I snickered.

Jacob gave a merry chuckle in return.

"Hardly," he said. "No, we figured it would be less complicated if you were enrolled in a domestic institution. An English education is highly regarded throughout the world. Not only that but England is in a precarious position with many countries. The last thing we would want is for you to be caught in a country that developed hostilities with our homeland."

I nodded to that one; it was a reasonable concern.

"I am agreeable to a most prestigious English education," I said. "I'll suffer with not attending school in Paris and missing the opportunity for lurid affairs…"

Jacob nearly spit out his wine and burst into laughter. I laughed along with him, it felt so good to joke about this so openly.

"Apologies, brother, you'll just have to settle for decent English boys," he said.

I dropped my fork in my own fit of laughter. Jacob just took another bite of his bread, though a wry smirk was firmly in place. I smiled back the moment I calmed a bit.

"As you know Matthew and I were Cambridge men," Jacob continued. "Trinity College to be exact."

"Yes I've heard enough stories to make it hard to forget," I replied.

"In fact I still keep in touch with a few of my old professors, I also have a few acquaintances in the higher offices. It is a school that has been friendly to our family."

Meaning "Should you apply there I can call in a few favors to get you in." He didn't say it but enough as implied.

"You will receive a world class education at Oxford as well, the choice is yours," Jacob continued. "Once the weather warms we should make a few visitations. Both are half a day's ride from London; we will take some time to explore the campuses, you can decide which you prefer. In the meantime you should be looking through a few guidebooks to acquaint yourself with both of them."

I said I would do so, though frankly I couldn't bring myself to care any more than I did. I realized when I returned home that the conversation dug up too many ill thoughts. University would mean leaving London, leaving the theater and my mates there, immersing myself in another stone pit of learning with other ill-tempered children.

University was different from grammar school, however. These were not well-off children thrown somewhere to be out of the way, these were studious individuals from all walks of life who had to go through trials to even get through the doors. Cambridge and King's Crest were infinitely different aside from the common thread of being learning institutions. The work would be much more challenging too and I hardly minded a challenge.

This prospect wasn't taking the sting out of the reality. I tried not to ponder the matter too much, merely tried to relax on my couch with a drink though I was pulling from my glass rather hard. Sometimes drink had a way of making you dwell a bit further on unpleasant things.

Sometime this year I would have to inform Colin I was leaving, perhaps I would be back during summer holiday but I would be out of the usual loop. Would he let me back in or would I be a forgotten memory? And what was I leaving London for? What was Oxford or Cambridge like compared to London? Infinitely different I gathered, bigger than Aldeburgh likely but I doubted they were that much different. It would be back to the routine of classes, perhaps hour after hour of subjects more and more insipid to train me for me "career" at Sutcliff Agriculture. It would be back to student politicking no matter how sophisticated the students.

And what would I have to work for, what prosperous future would all this schooling gain me? The same shit I was doing now, perhaps with a little more money and maybe with a bit more prestige but all the same. Going to the same bloody office every morning, perhaps being lucky enough to manage some theater time. Would the next expectation be a wife and a horde of brats?

I was about to pour myself a fourth glass of rum when I paused and threw the glass across the room. It hit the wall, though only the stem broke off, which felt a little unsatisfying.

Bollocks, all of it. I couldn't let this happen. Fuck Jacob, fuck Matthew, fuck the entire family, fuck respectability, fuck responsibility, fuck duty, I was my own fucking person! I'm not a pawn, I'm not a doll, I'm no one's heir. Half the family hates me, the other half sees me as an unruly boy wearing the clothes of a man, and all of them are waiting for me to be useful. And what am I readying myself for? For their bloody plan, that's what. I couldn't give a mound of shit about Sutcliff Agriculture and the arseholes who run it.

I ended up sipping from the bottle, promising myself I would be more careful. I needed to get hold of myself, bloody hell how many times had I made this speech in my head? How many times has I endeavored to find a way to tell Jacob and Matthew to piss off, give the speech to them as they did to me so many times over tea last summer? I was in the midst of a sip when the thought came to me, that last meeting with Matthew when I learned I would be staying in London. I played the conversation in my head, the words came to me exactly, "After university your future is wide open should you choose to return to the company or explore other pursuits."

I kicked the coffee table, almost imagining it as my own arse; why the hell didn't I think of this earlier? Even if Matthew never said that and even if he certainly never meant it, there was no way in hell I was going to allow myself to be tied down. Perhaps now was the ideal time to examine those "other pursuits." It was said that an education was a key to many doors. A smile actually came across my face; perhaps this prospect wasn't as daunting as I assumed. Perhaps this would work for me after all.

There was another matter I had nearly forgotten; in school I was away from the family. Jacob would be in London, Matthew would be in his gilded pen in Essex, and I would be on my lonesome. If Jacob spoke true about his Cambridge connections, Oxford would likely be my best choice to avoid any meddling. Then again it had been at least fifteen years since those two graduated and I hardly heard of any lingering support or connections to their alma mater. Naturally if I gained the wrong attention by any institution Matthew would surely hear about it and I would be in a bad position regardless. I was already planning for a contingency in that event as well, though perhaps the two plans could be merged for my betterment. Either way I wasn't going to allow myself to be trapped, I vowed to use this situation to my full advantage.

I would get an education to put toward my own future. University may have meant being away from London, but it also meant being away from any familial presence. I would actually be free. It was a freedom I squandered at King's Crest, but I was a different person now in a different environment. Then I would graduate and do everything in my power to stay the hell away from my family and their blasted company. This would be my freedom; freedom I would have to work for, scrape every penny for but it was what I had to do.

I found myself actually looking forward to this whole university rubbish.

That following Saturday afternoon, I received a knock on my door as predicted. Sure enough an older gentleman in a pristine, if not drab suit was on my doorstep introducing himself as James Finley. I offered him tea, we chatted a bit before getting to business. He was a pleasant gentleman; cordial and personable with a touch of wit. He started with a basic assessment of some of my prior knowledge, especially of the humanities.

He asked me to write out a few verses of Plato I knew from memory. I noticed a double-take and a somewhat alarmed expression when I first took the pen, though he tried maintaining usual decorum. I stopped and looked at him for a moment; if the use of my "sinister" hand offended him, we wouldn't be getting along that well. He just gave this apologetic little smile.

"My apologies, usually I am tasked with correcting hand usage," he said.

"Was such a task in my brother's instructions?" I asked, my tone even though I must have been glaring at him mightily.

"Oh no no no, I assure you," he said, shifting uncomfortable in his seat. "In fact he let me know you do prefer the use of your left hand."

"Good because I do and I would rather not make an issue out of it."

He was near trembling. I barely raised my voice and I could see sweat beading across his brow. This man seemed a bit faint of heart, but then what else did Jacob tell him?

"And I assure you it is of no concern to me, my apologies for offending for such was not my intention," he sputtered.

I simply smiled and raised a hand in peace.

"No worries, my friend, old habits are hard to break on both sides," I said.

This calmed him right down and we returned to the lesson peacefully. All continued cordially for the next two hours. At the end we arranged to meet twice a week on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, possibly adding a third day the closer I got to taking the exams. Naturally this schedule was negotiable depending on my social schedule and work duties; the benefit of having a tutor accustomed to the schedules of the nobility. He did want me to study regularly; read the classics and practice a few equations and theorems he left me. I was more than agreeable to all of this.

He returned the next afternoon and we had a rather intriguing discussion on various Socratic concepts. He said I was most astute with a marked talent for complex thinking. This whole arrangement was working rather well already. Jacob was certainly pleased to hear this in the carriage on Monday. I did ask him if he told Mr. Finley about my temper.

"I'll confess I told him you can be a little quick to anger, nothing more," Jacob said. "I believe he has worked with quite a few unruly children, and I mean pure hellions. Maybe he's grown a bit jumpy."

It was a good enough answer.

That evening I was practicing some equations before brushing up on my lines, however my lines for Mercutio would be short-lived. Colin was teasing us nicely on what he was going to choose as the next production. The grand announcement would take place at Wednesday's rehearsal.

All of us were twittering in speculation as to the next play between practicing lines and blocking. At the end of rehearsal, Colin quietly passed out a new script: "The Taming of the Shrew." There were quite a few laughs and claps, actors discussing what parts they might want to go for; though no arguing or rivalries at the moment. Colin said formal readings would take place in a week, rehearsals would begin in February after "Romeo and Juliet" wrapped.

I paged through the script that evening looking through the different parts. I wasn't as familiar with this play as I was some of the others, I preferred the tragedies to the comedies personally though wasn't all that finicky. I played a minor role last time, perhaps it was time to step it up. I honed in a little more on the lines of Petruchio: the lead man who takes the bitchy Katherina and turns her into a "decent wife." I found him to be a bit of an arse, but the more offensive the character the greater the fun. It was certainly worth a try. I looked over the lines throughout the week, trying not to lose my memory of Mercutio's lines in the process.

Mr. Finley came over again on Saturday, apparently he wasn't all that pleased with how I did my equations though, "You have been away from schooling for a while." I tried to mentally deflect the comment, it was accurate yes but how many different mathematical formulae had I been working with for designing successful products? Regardless I listened as he showed me different ways of solving a few problems, then had me try a few more during the evening. That would naturally have to wait after that night's production was done. I did have a few more at the pub then I should have and only remembered my work after the thought woke me up from sleep. I scribbled them out, hoping that some bit of intelligence snuck through my inebriated haze.

Surprisingly it did, Mr. Finley actually commended me for an improved performance. Maybe the drink made me smarter, or perhaps putting more effort into doing and not concentrating was my boon. The rest of Sunday was focused on Aristotle, a much more interesting topic. I was left with a few passages to memorize. Here I was memorizing these lines with Petruchio's lines and keeping Mercutio's dialogue there too. It would be a true test of my memory, one I gladly accepted. Lack of schooling or no, I would show everyone the true breadth of my capabilities.

I went over Aristotle on Monday, though all of Tuesday was dedicated to Petruchio. I chose his monologue from Act IV on his methods for taming dearest Kate; it was something I could have fun with and do my best to charm Colin into giving me the part. Wednesday was set aside for readings. I went to the theater envisioning another crowning audition; applause all around and the part firmly in my hand as when I recited Mercutio's "Queen Mab" speech.

I told Colin right away I was reading for Petruchio. I quickly learned Sam and George were going for the same role. Apparently I had a little competition from the more seasoned actors, though the other lads were rather good natured about it. The competition was friendly, though I knew deep down that this was my part. I simply wowed everyone with my first role, what more could I do with my second?

My competitors read before me; both were skilled, showing this man in their own ways. Sam played him a bit brutish as well, George took a bit more gruffly sincere route. I studied them, took their performances and errors into consideration, then took the stage myself. Yes I was a little nervous at first, but the moment I opened my mouth I knew I was in my element. I played Petruchio as this posh brute, so like so many men I had the misfortune of keeping company with.

My performance earned me a good amount of applause, nothing thunderous though I suppose that was to be expected given that this was an audition. I was expecting an announcement at the end of the night, though Colin said he would have to think over the casting.

"You all were so wonderful I will need ample time to make the right casting choices," Colin said. "I will have my mind all made after the performance tomorrow night."

It was a fair decision, these were all rather skilled actors. It was a small disappointment compared to how quickly I won Mercutio in the last reading, though I was now at a bit of a higher level. Mercutio might have been an important player in "Romeo and Juliet," but Petruchio was the male lead in this production. The decision was a bit more important. Regardless I kept my confidence high; Sam and George did magnificently, but I felt I had a bit more of an edge.

I tried not to think on this at work the next day though it was nigh impossible. It was hard to keep my horse at a steady gallop en route to the theater, I was so on edge. By the time I started getting into make-up and costume I calmed myself with the thought that I had indeed won the lead role. That was my thinking getting on the stage that night; I was preparing a minor role now, but in just a few weeks I would be the _primo uomo_.

We completed our curtain call and went backstage, everyone on the usual high from a magnificent performance. Ten minutes after the end of the play Colin called for us to gather round, a list in his hand. This was it, I stood near the back of the circle readying myself for the announcement.

Katherina was given to a player named Mary, who worked on a bit of costuming for our current play but went right for this role. Jane, our current Juliet, was cast as her sister Bianca.

"For the role of Petruchio, you gentlemen were all phenomenal, but alas I had to pick one and that fellow was George," Colin said.

George; it took a moment for the declaration to sink in. I clapped politely with the rest. George took my hand and Sam's and kissed both of them with a humble bow. My sinking disappointment was somewhat alleviated by this rather cordial display.

"The role of Lucentio goes to Richard," Colin said.

That picked me up rather quickly. Lucentio was Bianca's main suitor and later her husband, essentially a bit of an important role. It wasn't the lead though it was decent enough. I bowed in response to the claps in my direction.

Colin announced the rest of the cast: Sam was given the role of Bianca's other suitor Hortensio. All of us gave our congratulations to our colleagues, Sam, George, and I gave each other a few extra complimentary words. I left the theater with a sense of hollow peace. I was happy for the role I was given, though I could not say I was all that happy for my colleague's success over me. I wasn't angry at him, perhaps I was a little sore at Colin, though I was a little peeved at myself for turning something so wonderful into such an exercise in vainglory.

This was supposed to be my escape, my passion; the prestige of the role was meaningless. Why would I allow myself to be so vexed by this? Because I wanted to be that leading man; I wanted to be in the forefront, the star. I finally wanted to be the focus point for my talents and not for my faults, be the king and not the pawn. It was a goal for another time, but a promise. Warriors only gained the prize by fighting; such would be the reality of my life.

I confess I had a few tears in my eyes upon returning to my apartment. I felt a bit overwhelmed by my thoughts. Naturally that bottle of rum was the first thing I grabbed. I would only take a few sips, I promised myself. This time there would be no need to clean up broken glass. Those few sips turned into a few glasses…all right more than a few. By then my disposition brightened a little. No I didn't have the lead role, but then the true lead went to a lovely lady and she deserved all the glory. Someday I would be that leading lady, I would be the prima donna all the tarts would bow down to. I knew by then I had a little too much.

Any lingering ill temper was replaced with a nice headache the next morning. Getting ready for work was a bit more difficult, though I was bright and ready for the carriage to work. I saw Jacob give me a second look over his forms, though kept his mouth shut. By the end of the day I was felling fine and ready to start learning Lucentio's lines. I realized learning a new part (especially a more heft role) might be tricky with the passages Mr. Finley was having me do, though it was indeed a matter of pacing. I would try again to do my studies with a looser focus, not drunk of course but doing rather than concentrating.

My technique paid off, he was practically applauding when I recited the passage from memory on Saturday. My knowledge of literature was strong, though my mathematics could use a little honing. He gave me some extra problems to solve and I did them that night after watching what I drank. He was pleased with the progress on Sunday, though gave me quite a few more for the week.

We were now entering the last week of January, the last hurrah for "Romeo and Juliet." It was bittersweet going into the final rehearsal on Wednesday and the last round of performances starting Thursday. This was my first ever play, my first stage experience. I was excited to be moving onto other things, but this book was closing for us. I was both excited for and dreading that last night, thinking about it all during my lessons on Sunday.

Sunday evening I put on Mercutio's costume for the last time…here at least. Colin lead us in prayer for a prosperous show, we all linked hands and bowed our heads in solidarity. Then we all ran to the stage, handshakes and back pats all around. I savored every moment up there. I put so much into that last "Queen Mab" speech, that last fight with Tybalt, then one final death scene; one final cry of "A plague o' both your houses!"

At last Ephraim took me from the stage for the last time, I received applause from backstage once I was away from the curtain. I still watched the rest of the proceedings, taking it all in. At last we went out on stage for that last curtain call. I went out blowing kisses to the audience, soaking up the applause. We joined hands and bowed to a standing ovation. Then we left the stage in the highest of spirits, removing our costumes and make-up.

We assembled at the local pub for a grand dinner, toasting to "Romeo and Juliet" and the promise of "Taming of the Shrew." At some point during the evening I heard Sam mention something about "I knew I'd take my requisite step back, Colin is good with keeping us cycling through."

This conversation caught my attention.

"Cycling through?" I asked

"Well you see Colin, being the nice guy that he is, likes us all to have the center stage the longer we've been here," Sam said, tipping his pint glass to Colin.

"That is correct," Colin said between bites of his pie. "A little friendly competition is certainly healthy, but I like to keep things fair for my lads and gals. I'd rather not have any one star above anyone else. Anyone who wants that is free to go to another company."

"But why would we," Jane said, receiving a kiss on the hand from Colin.

"So it was a bit well known George was the next lead," I said.

Colin smiled and took my hands.

"Richard, my boy, you did an amazing reading, beyond fantastic," he replied, looking right in my eyes. "That is why I felt you were the best candidate for Lucentio, a bit more of a challenge but one I think you can handle. However you are still very green. I really want to see how far I can take you in the next production, how much you can grow. One day you will get that lead role, I promise. Stay with it and keep working and I will know you can handle it."

I nodded, feeling a bit humble, no rather a bit embarrassed.

"Consider this your schooling," George said, putting an arm around my shoulder. "This is how all of us started."

"Crawl your way up and you can rule the world," Sam added.

I got a few more embraces and handshakes when we all parted, a lot of my peers encouraging me to do all I could; I was great already and could only become greater. The true warmth I felt from this group was a large comforting blanket. I now felt a bit silly for my melancholy over losing that role. Giving me Lucentio was Colin's compliment to my abilities; I was indeed glad I kept my temper in check and the matter in perspective. The next production after "Taming of the Shrew" would be the next big drama; perhaps I would be a bit more ready by then.

The summer production…my last one before university. The thought hit me on the ride home. I tried to keep my elation after such a successful evening, but my mood was deflating quick. At last I reminded myself that this was still several months away, I still had several months to work with; several months but only one more production. I guess I would have to wow them by then.

Jacob and I actually chatted about the last night of "Romeo and Juliet" in the carriage. I told him about our next performance and the rather prestigious role I garnered.

"My brother, quite the star," Jacob said with a chuckle.

Rehearsals for the new production began on Wednesday. As nervous as I was that my lines would clash with the passages Mr. Finley had me learning, I went to the theater relying little on the script. I went in thinking I wouldn't have to mind as much physical action as I did with Mercutio's sword fighting, though I swiftly learned the challenge of this role was to convey more with inflection and manners. The blocking was a little more complex with more relying on subtlety. Lucentio was a bit more of a romantic sod then Mercutio, I was having a bit of fun with his sentiment. Colin masterfully gave me directions and advice on when to turn up the passion and when to cool it in the right moments.

I could tell after the first day of physical rehearsals that this was going to be a true lesson in the theatrical arts, even more so than last time. If I needed anymore convincing that Colin wasn't merely being a git when he gave me this part instead of Petruchio I was convinced now. He must have had confidence that I could pull this off and I owed him to prove him right.

Studying my mundane academic lessons was almost a break from studying lines. Some nights I would just need to sit back and relax, though I was trying more and more to avoid the bottles of darker ambrosia to do so. Instead I was taking up my violin again, pulling out sheet music that I put aside too long ago.

My strategy was working, Mr. Finley was increasingly impressed with my abilities. I was keeping my mouth shut to him about my side activities. Grell Sutcliff was his student, Richard Morris was another person of no importance to him and I would rather keep it that way. I pegged this old bugger for another one of those who would scold me for my "distractions."

Jacob did ask me in the carriage one day if I was feeling overwhelmed at all; memorizing new lines, working, and doing my tutoring. It was an understandable question; an annoying though understandable. I assured him I had this delicate balance to a fine art.

"I will take your word for it," he said. "Though as much as I'm going to sound like a joyless git saying this, you do recognize where your priorities lie."

I kept my calm manner in check though I felt like I had been kicked in the shin.

"I am most aware," I said with a dismissive little laugh, trying to pry apart clenched teeth. "My focus is right on my work and my schooling, I assure you."

For now at least, until I finally had some more money saved up and a degree in my hand.

"I figured you were keeping everything in perspective," Jacob said with a smile. "I just wanted to hear it from your own lips. Normally I would not ask such a question, but Matthew did inquire."

Oh yes, I felt so much better knowing that.

"Matthew inquired?" I asked, trying to sound as polite as could be.

"I got a letter from him this week asking about your schooling progress," Jacob sighed. "He asked if you were getting too distracted, I was about to write a resounding no but I wanted to check for myself."

Matthew was concerned about me being distracted, typical for him; he probably thought this play stuff was nothing but a distraction. I was going to say this but held my tongue. That's right, Matthew wasn't supposed to know about the play. Jacob told me back in December he was keeping his mouth shut, though he let it slip to the dearest baron at some point. I overheard them arguing about the matter during that "private" conversation on Christmas Eve. Did I have Jacob in a trap just now?

"Does Matthew know about my theatrical activities?" I asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Jacob said without hesitation.

I did all I could to keep perfectly calm and not betray any reactions.

"I remember you asked me to stay quiet on that subject," he said. "Unless he has spies in other places, he probably just thinks your social life is too active."

Yes he has spies in other places and one of them is sitting right across from me. My leg muscles twitched with the urge to leap from this seat and wring his neck. Instead I kept perfectly still and calm, giving a polite nod and pretending to be glad with the word. I wanted to say something, I wanted to call out his blatant lie right here; tell him I had been listening in on a good part of that discussion on Christmas Eve, tell him I knew the truth.

"I'm pleased to hear that," I said instead, keeping my demeanor as calm as possible. "The last thing I need is our brother finding any more strings to strangle me with."

What would calling him out accomplish? Only a string of more lies to cover up for the lie I exposed. It was more likely he would use my confession of eavesdropping against me somehow. No, I had a card up my sleeve now and showing it to him would be stupid. He blatantly lied to me expressionless and with a calm tone. My face felt hot, though a calm resonated from the pit of my stomach; the calm of sickening validation.

"Relax, that was his only interest; he is still content with remaining in the dark about your mundane doings."

For his own sake Jacob had better be telling me the truth, though what's another little lie? There was little I could do about this, I was just pleased to know my suspicion wasn't in vain.

I expected I would barely be able to face Jacob for the rest of the day with this knowledge, though surprisingly there were little changes. Such was the case for the next day and the next. I realized I wasn't as bothered by the lie as I should have been. Perhaps I had not thought so highly of him as much; or perhaps this was a minor thing compared to anything else he could have done. I did try to reason why he spoke as he did but there was none to be found; frankly I didn't give a damn.

My focus was on more important things, namely the impending opening of "The Taming of the Shrew." Dress rehearsals took place in the middle of February. My new costume for Lucentio was a white tunic with black britches, my hair in a ponytail though I wore this black cap most of the time.

Colin told us at the end of rehearsal opening night was scheduled for the 25th and would continue the Thursday through Sunday run as planned.

"What about April?" Mary asked.

Giggles went around the room with a few claps, I looked around my fellow actors a bit perplexed.

"Oh, April indeed," Colin said, pensively stroking his beard with a growing smirk. "That day falls on a Tuesday, if you would be willing to give some time that evening…"

The group applauded and whistled. I exchanged confused looks with Ephraim, the other new egg. He looked just as confused as I did until it appeared he had a revelation and snickered as well, his flatmate Sam tapping him on the arm. I just looked up at Colin.

"Oh that's right, this is a little tradition not known by those new to our little theater," Colin said. "I believe Mr. Morris and Mr. Jones are a bit in the dark."

"Well that surprise was a bit ruined for me by certain parties," Ephraim said with a laugh, lightly elbowing Sam.

"Ah, so I suppose only Mr. Morris is ignorant of these dealings," Colin replied looking at me.

"Very much so," I said with a shrug.

"Well to fill you in, we have scheduled one special performance on a Tuesday in April; a dramatic reading to be technical," Colin explained with impeccable calm, though I heard giggles all around me. "It is a dramatic reading because it will involve the players taking another role in the production and learning all the lines would be a bit cumbersome as you can imagine."

Colin leaned right into my face.

"Tell me honestly, Mr. Morris," he said. "Does the idea of wearing a dress offend you in any way?"

My fellows completely lost it. I stared at Colin though my straight demeanor cracked with a wave of chortles.

"No sir, the prospect of wearing a dress does not offend me at all," I replied through laughs.

That was a sizable understatement.

Colin smiled and patted me on the shoulder.

"Good to hear," he said, backing off and returning to his usual position. "Lucentio, you will be reading for Bianca, Bianca you will be playing Lucentio. Petruchio will take the starring role as Kate, and Kate will take Petruchio's role. The rest of the parts will be assigned accordingly but that is the basic concept."

I saw George fixing his short, black hair and batting his eyelashes; Mary next to him flexing her arms.

"For a little history for Mr. Jones and Mr. Morris, this will be the fourth year we have done this special presentation," Colin explained. "Every year there have been some critics and moralists who have ripped us to shreds, but that hasn't stopped an increasingly healthy crowd from parting with their money to come see the spectacle and laugh their hindquarters off. In fact some people say they look forward to it every year. Yes the nature of this is a bit more comedic and it is a reading as opposed to a full production, though I do want there to be a dramatic purpose at the center. This will involve you playing a member of the other sex, but I want you to treat that role with as much seriousness and respect as you treat your current one. Of course we'll discuss costuming and the like the closer we get to it."

I was liking this concept more and more.

"And what day in April would this performance take place?" I asked, though I already had a good idea.

"That would be the 1st of April, Mr. Morris," Colin said. "Same time as usual."

I smiled and nodded, my guess was correct.

* * *

**A few historical notes:**  
-I did a bit of research into the entrance requirements for Oxford and Cambridge in the 1700s. From what I found admission was exceedingly loose. Anyone (or rather any Anglican male) could take the complex entrance exam and be admitted at any time of the year and at any age. The current application deadlines for both schools are Oct. 15 for the coming school year, though back then notable students were attending at any point in the year. If anyone knows any more about this and cares to share or correct me, feel free to. This is what I'm going with for this story.

-Regarding that last scene, by the late 1700s both women and men were acting onstage so the old practice of men taking women's roles was pretty much obsolete. In fact there were roles for women called "britches parts" where women played men. It was also pretty common to see men playing women's roles for comedy in the 1700s.


	32. Part 32

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 32**

Opening night of "The Taming of the Shrew" was a bit of a surreal experience. We had rehearsed and rehearsed, all costumes were in order, all make-up was ready, we had everything down. The only thing not in place was an audience and an opening curtain. That was changing as of tonight, still to felt a little strange to be preparing a whole new set of lines and blocking for something that was not "Romeo and Juliet." It was a pleasant odd, though odd nonetheless.

The fact I was doing a second play at all was in itself a momentous occasion. Not only that but I was going to feature a bit more prominently. I was actually going to be onstage for a lot longer, I had to admit I was slightly nervous at the thought. Opening night jitters are a normal thing, I was overhearing my fellows having enough of their own. Some were being open about their nervousness; doing breathing exercises or repeating affirming phrases. Others were getting a bit snippy about their make-up or having a button slightly loose on their costumes.

Colin gathered us round right before we got into places. We linked hands as Colin said a prayer for a successful show.

"Now go out there and charm the knickers off all of them," he said.

We all clapped in response.

Aunt Roberta went out with an elder member of our company James for the scene between Sly and the Hostess to begin the play. Lucentio was coming right out in the first act, this was a long moment of anxious waiting. Everyone in the opening scenes did a smashing job, lessening my nerves a bit. They all set the stage rather well for me to just come in. The curtain closed on the opening and I jumped to my place, getting pats on the back and little calls of encouragement. Elias, who replaced me as Mercutio during that failure of a Christmas party, was playing Tranio. We went onstage together with nods and winks of encouragement.

We got into our places, I got into character, at last the curtain rose with applause. I threw my nerves aside like dingy towel.

"Tranio, since for the great desire I had to see fair Padua, nursery of arts, I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy," I began, remembering to keep my speech even and embrace my character. "The pleasant garden of great Italy; and by my father's love and leave am arm'dwith his good will and thy good company, my trusty servant, well approved in all, here let us breathe and haply institute a course of learning and ingenious studies."

By this point I was in a pleasant groove, continuing the rest of my speech as a young man traveling to further his education. The lines rang even more appropriate considering what else was going on in my life. My speech ended smoothly and Elias went into his lines with grace. The other actors and actresses took their parts, by this point my nerves were completely gone. I was interacting and saying my lines like I was Lucentio up there.

I was on stage so much longer as Lucentio but it felt natural. I truly felt like I was a part of something grander. Jane was a bit stiff as Bianca, I felt I had to prod her a bit to get more life from her though by the end she became a little more comfortable; our affections in the end seemed a bit more natural. A tiny voice in my head told me how I was acting all charming with this lady like I acted with every other bird; in the end it was really all acting, wasn't it?

Lucentio had the last line of the play. I was a little nervous about mucking this up, it was the last note of the whole orchestra I wanted to get perfect. By the time Sam and I were alone on stage I knew I could do this.

"Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew," Sam as Hortensio said.

"'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so," I delivered flawlessly.

The lights faded and the curtain closed and we left the stage, a flood of cheering behind us. It was over and it was impeccable. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, fire coursed through my veins and I felt truly giddy. I went up for curtain call thunderous applause. I blew kisses to the audience, seeing men and women clapping and cheering with big smiles. Main role or no, I was a star here.

We took our final bow and ran offstage. The energy was high, everyone hugging and cheering, I felt so much happiness. We gathered at the pub later and were the loudest in the room, though the keeper loved it. He gave us a round on the house to commemorate an amazing opening night. We all pried ourselves out of the tavern around 11, no one was getting any decent sleep that night and no one cared. I went home and crashed into bed, though didn't actually sleep for a while I was so giddy.

Jacob wanted to know all about it the next morning. I was actually exuberant when I recalled the night's victories, that was telling to me. He listened with seeming interest, reacting and asking questions along with the story. Maybe I was getting a bit more comfortable with Jacob. I knew he was a lying, manipulative bastard but perhaps knowing this lightened the mood. I couldn't wait for that day to be over, I horribly longed to get back onstage that night. When the end of the day came, I rushed back to the theater to begin the process again.

The second night I was much more relaxed, pushing myself a bit more on my delivery and manners. Jane was following a bit better, everyone seemed to relax a lot more, and once again so much adulation. By Sunday it was obvious we had a success. Colin told us the following Friday that numbers were up, some of the highest he had ever had for a spring production already. Everyone remained humble, the most modest reactions to success I had ever seen; it was almost inspiring.

After a fiery weekend of performances, it was time to settle back into the work routine. I boarded the carriage as usual in the morning, noticing Jacob giving me little glances over his paper. The carriage took to the street and he looked at me straight on. I looked back at him curiously. He methodically turned over his page, folded the paper, and handed it to me. Oh blast it, what was going on now?

I looked down at the page, my eye catching immediately on one headline: "Mersey Hall Players shine in 'The Taming of the Shrew:' A hidden jewel of theater delight."

My jaw dropped wide, Jacob snickered a bit. I tried to keep my amazement in check as I continued reading the article, Roger Patterson was the name of the author.

_Mersey Hall is one of those delightful smaller stages that normally only attracts true connoisseurs of theater or their own loyal audience and it oft ignored by those who would think it a scandal to be caught off Drury Lane. It would be a fool who would give such a snub to this diamond in the rough off Leicester Square destined to produce some young stars of the West End. _

_This was no more apparent than the small company's recent opening of William Shakespeare's comedy "The Taking of the Shrew." For those uneducated, the story centers on the desire for the maiden Bianca to wed her chosen suitor, an occasion her father has decreed cannot occur unless her disobedient, temperamental sister Katharina is wed. Miracles do happen and Katharina is taken by the firm lord Petruchio who teaches his wife how to be a proper woman. _

_Director Colin Avery masterfully guided his players to show their true talents in this production. Mary Atwood is the true star of this show, a most graceful and daring starlet. She is unafraid to portray Kate's distemper and is truly marvelous showing her transformation into the ideal wife. _

_The other stars of this show are two young, handsome actors with great talents for the stage. The strong yet sensible George Caswell plays Petruchio as a brutish, yet noble gentleman. He has a strong presence on the stage that cannot be ignored, especially compared to his strong physique and handsome face. In contrast is the agile, aggressive-yet-delicate Richard Morris, who plays Bianca's main suitor Lucentio. Mr. Morris's flame red hair makes him striking in appearance, even more striking is this man of tender years with such confidence and grace to play this romantic scholar with great intelligent charm. _

_Alas this theater remains a diamond in the rough, the rough edges are apparent. The costumes are poor-fitting and the backdrop painting is amateurish. While this company clearly has stars, some of the smaller parts were obviously played by someone's elderly father or grocer. Such casting decisions might have been necessary in Shakespeare's day though wholly indicates a lacking in standards in this age. _

_Hopefully success will come to Mersey Hall to allow them to smooth out their jagged edges. At the very least hopefully the talented Messrs. Caswell and Morris and the darling Miss Atwood will be on much more accommodating Drury Lane stages for their talents. _

I stared at the text for a moment, my eyes then wandering to the masthead. It was The Times Arts and Theater page, the article was near the top below an article on a hot new play opening on Drury Lane. Our theater was just featured in The Times; I was featured in The Times. This was going to go out to all of London and points beyond. People all over London and beyond London knew about Richard Morris…no, they knew about me. That was but a name, one name that labeled the real man.

"Handsome…confidence and grace…striking appearance…will hopefully be on much more accommodating stages…" It took me a moment to digest what I was reading. Jacob's stupid giggle broke me from my shock. I looked up to see him staring at me with a wide grin.

"Is this the little poppet's first theater review?" he said, tapping me on the arm. "That is a mighty fine first time I would say? Right in the bloody Times, dear God what have you done?"

"Pardon, it is a bit of a shock," I said, my face hurting from smiling so hard. "I mean, it's not the greatest article; I mean the ladies and gents who play our side characters are decent folks, and our sets are done with great pains."

"Oh look who's being modest; good God man eat it up. Rake in the spoils, a man should take pride in his craft. This little hobby of yours is earning great marks, congratulations you shine."

Hobby. Just the word dulled the shine a bit, cut away some of my mirth. It was probably a turn of speech, though considering the source it grated on me a bit.

"But then success comes naturally to you, you excel in all you do," Jacob added.

I had an extra spring in my step when I walked into that office. Grell Sutcliff the simple office worker was the stage star Richard Morris; it was like having a secret identity or being a celebrity undercover as a normal man. I entertained the bizarre thought that the accolades were Richard Morris' and not mine, I had to remind myself a few times we were the same man. A pity I couldn't collect such honors under my Christian name, though the real name was the mask and the fake name was who I really was, though did I ever truly know either? It was a silly thought, boredom creeping in perhaps.

Naturally we came to the theater on Wednesday to be greeted by Colin with a copy of the paper in his hand. Most of the players had read the review already, some were reading it for the first time. The response was mixed, giggles of cheer mixed with some shouts and groans of disgust. There were a few crossed words: "It's such an honor to get this" mixed with "How dare they insult us so!" I tried to stay neutral, though George was grinning like a maniac the whole time. Mary was mostly defending the honor of our backstage crew and those among us playing the smaller parts.

Finally Colin called all attention to himself.

"I believe we should take this as a blessing," he called to all of us. "This is the most prominent review this company has ever received, that is a large gift. No this review was not all flattering for us, and yes it was outright insulting to some while glowing for others. Such is the fickle nature of criticism, it is a science to pick apart the good and the bad an learn what to work with and what to throw in the rubbish. However, as I said, this is huge for us. We are now known by so many more people. Hopefully this will mean more audiences and maybe we can buy better fabrics and paints that will make everyone look more flattering and shut people up once and for all. In the meantime we still have a play to run, the wheels still turn, now let's get back to it and wow some more miserable critics."

My fellows seemed satisfied with this and everyone took their places and went back to rehearsal like normal. While I understood the anger, a part of me wanted to tell everyone to shut up and appreciate what we were given. We were just reviewed in the bloody Times, who cares about the jabs. The thought briefly occurred to me that I should have been more offended on behalf of my fellows, though in the end why he hell should I care. I wasn't one of the side parts, I was a star: I was lauded in print for all of London to see. Perhaps the blessings were mine to take...or Richard Morris' blessings. This way of thinking was becoming a bit silly.

On Thursday Colin's hope came to fruition. We peeked out the curtains to see throngs of people in the theater right after the doors opened, at least twice the amount we normally see and the numbers grew. All of us were gaping at the full house, it was brilliant and a bit scary. The show went on as usual, though the sound of twice of not three times the amount of people cheering and clapping was a bit different. I went out to thunderous applause, taking more care in my delivery and manners. I would go out and come on with an audience fanfare. At curtain call people were throwing flowers onstage can calling our names. I heard a few shouts of "Richard," mostly from female voices.

Everyone went offstage like heroes returning from courageous battle. Everyone seemed excited for the response. This continued through the weekend. On Sunday, Colin came to us with the numbers, his hand slightly shaking around the paper and a voice caught in a giddy laugh; the production thus far had been the highest grossing one this playhouse had ever had. We cheered and hugged backstage, everyone went into that night's performance in a good mood.

The house was packed for the next week, sold out even for a few nights. I usually left the playhouse with my fellows, even alone with a few admirers approaching me on rare occasions. That whole week all of us were being approached by small groups of people. Most of the people who came up to me were young women, their batting eyelashes and flushed cheeks communicated clear interest. I would give a few handshakes, a few bows, sign a few autographs and go my merry way. I noticed the same was true of George, though he was kissing a few more hands and touching a few more faces than I was. The boy was eating this all up. Occasionally I watched him walk off with a girl, maybe two on his arm; that dog.

About a week later I was alone in the dressing room with Sam and George, talk inevitably turned to our new female admirers. George was doing a bit of bragging, Sam was mostly listening though I heard a slight strain in his voice. The way he would say "You lucky sod" to George was more than a little telling; was Sammy not getting any? Was Sammy a little resentful for it?

"How about you, Rich, you've been getting a bit of female attention," Sam said to me.

I simply smiled.

"They're lovely ladies indeed," I replied.

"And you've been a complete gentleman with them," George added. "Unless you're meeting them on the side."

"As you said, I prefer to be a gentleman," I said.

Sam and George gave some dirty chuckles in response.

"Whereas I prefer not to be personally," George said

"That's you, this is me," I said in response.

"Oh yes you're so much more refined," Sam said, I wasn't quite liking the tone of his voice. "Or are you saving yourself for your wedding day like a proper gentleman? Or perhaps you're saving yourself for someone as refined as you seem to be."

I chuckled nervously. Sam was just taking out his frustrations, that didn't dim my sudden urge to put a fist in his face.

"Bloody hell Sammy, just lay off the poor guy," George said with a little smile.

"I am simply giving my appreciation to our admirers," I said.

Sam looked at me a bit askew.

"Right, 'appreciation,'" he said. "A horde of lovely beauties comes to the kid and he simply shows his 'appreciation.' You're the last of the good Christians, Rich, you really are."

Mary and Ephraim then came in to grab some clothes, chatting about the best marketplaces or something of that like. Our conversation ceased and we went back to what we were doing, Ephraim pulling Sam into the debate of whether Westminster or Holborn had the best selection of meats. I wanted to kiss him for the interruption. I gathered my things and casually left the room as fast as I could without looking desperate. Sam didn't say anything to me the next day, just went about his business like normal. George did approach me before we got into make-up.

"I'm sorry for that whole conversation yesterday," George said. "Sam was being a twat, there was no excuse for it. I know the lad's a little angry at not getting mentioned in that article plus the green-eyed monster comes out. There was no need for what he said to you."

I was pleasantly surprised by this apology.

"I thank you for saying something," I said. "Trust me I don't hold you responsible for any of it, though I appreciate the word."

"You're a good guy, Rich, don't let anyone back you in a corner for anything."

"Oh believe me I won't. I took what was said for what it was worth."

We parted with smiles and a handshake. Sam still didn't say anything to me about it, though he didn't avoid me; he just kept on the usual. I was content to leave it at that though I was keeping a close eye out.

Even as the crowds and our admirers grew, even as we were more in the open, Colin said rather proudly that we would still be putting on that "dramatic reading" on the 1st of April. It was our grand tradition, let's get as many people involved in the fun as possible. As we entered the last few weeks of March, Colin encouraged us to give a closer read to our companion parts. I read over Bianca's lines in between whatever else I was doing (or whatever else Mr. Finley was having me do). I practiced a little diction in my apartment with some appropriate comportment and gestures of a sophisticated young lady. This was going to be rather fun.

The last week of March we took some extra time to read our lines in a circle. Colin didn't want us straining our voices too unnaturally; no squeaking voices for the men and no ugly bellowing for the women. The sheer tone and presentment of our voices would do the work for us. A delicate maiden should merely have a delicate tone while the male tone should be firm and aggressive though not boorishly so. It took a bit of practice but I easily adapted to the role of this young maiden. Bring of delicate years myself was an advantage, the tone of my voice was still youthful and could be molded a bit more.

We were asked to stay a little later during Wednesday's rehearsal to be fitted for our costumes. Georgia met with each of us to select items from the wardrobe. I could hear giggles to outright laughs all over. Sam came out in this white dress embroidered with little flowers. He wore a corset underneath; two small pillows stuffed into strategic places to give the appearance of a more feminine shape; a rough appearance but an appearance nonetheless. He wore a poofy white wig and waved around a lacy fan. Jane came out soon after in britches and a black suit with a white brocade waistcoat and a lacy cravat. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like a smart young man, though complained a bit about how her chest bits were getting chafed under a wrapping. She did take Sam's hand and lead him for a few dance steps, everyone was in peals of laughter.

It was soon my turn. We went behind a curtain, I was put in one of these corsets with the pillows, laced lightly though I could still feel a few parts squeezed a bit snugly. She chose this dark brown dress with a white bodice bearing a floral print. I stepped into it, feeling the loose fabric around my arms and draping over my legs. She fastened the hooks in the back and I simply looked at myself in the mirror.

My form now was that of a lady; an awkward form yes though a little tucking and readjusting in places fixed much of that. Ignoring the shape of my throat and the slight roughness of the skin around my jaw, I was by all appearances a female. It was a striking transformation; it felt like looking at a different person but this was certainly me. Georgia played with my hair a bit, settling on pulling it into a loose ponytail and puffing up the top though keeping the rest loose. "You have such lovely hair, let it speak for itself," she said.

I stared at myself in awe; I was looking at myself yet I wasn't. I was looking at a new form of myself, something completely different than I saw from the day-to-day, something…grand. How beautiful I looked right then. How more beautiful could I look in full make-up, or perhaps in a more appealing dress?

I was hearing calls to present the final results, I smiled; time to show off this new form. I twisted around and walked from behind the curtain, stepping before my fellows with hands on my skirt and twirling. I was greeted with applause and a few wolf-whistles, a few calls of "hey beautiful" and "lookin' grand, chap."

"That's not 'chap,' that's 'my lady' you ruffians," I said putting my hands on my hips and tilting my head back.

I received roars of laughter in response.

With all of our costumes on we did a basic readthrough. I started out with sweetness though added a bit of pluck to Bianca that Colin subtly asked me to turn up a bit. I kept her a lady though not a quiet one. At one point Colin asked George to listen to my voice a bit for guidance; apparently I was doing something properly. We ended up breaking around 10 in the evening. Colin said he wanted us to do a few more readings before the performance, however he didn't want us to be too polished. If any mistakes happened they would fall entirely within the spirit of the show.

At the end of the evening I took off my dress and my corset, undoing my hair from the ponytail and letting it fall free. I then got back into my hunter green suit and brown waistcoat. I looked like a proper young gentleman again; I couldn't help but be a bit underwhelmed, disappointed almost. The gown was off, the persona was left in the theater, I was back as my usual self. The thought was forgotten by the time I went to bed, though I did find myself adding some more patterns when I dressed for work the next day. It wasn't as grand as what I wore the night before, but it would do for now; must maintain propriety. I shook my head a bit at that thought. Perhaps propriety was best relaxed on occasion, perhaps I could find ways to do so.

The thought did cross my mind of if I should tell Jacob about Tuesday's reading. He knew about the eccentricities of theater, not to mention he already knew I wore a dress once; though that was a misadventure at a private party whilst I was half-drunk and randy. I would be doing this right out in public. Being confronted about my stage presence was so much easier than being confronted about my stage presence whilst dressed in women's clothing; perhaps he would like some warning and explanation beforehand. Perhaps he would find this a reason to lecture me yet again about the family's reputation despite my "hobby." I decided this was one occasion that I would prefer he were in the dark about. Naturally he apparently saw and knew everything, let him find out about this and let him say something. I could find ways to smooth this over after I had my night of girlish fun.

I went home after work as usual on Tuesday. As soon as I got into my apartment I was changing and getting on my horse. I was giddy about getting on my gown, even more excited about seeing myself in the proper make-up. Georgia powdered my face nice and pale, adding some pink lipstick and some kohl liner; the face painting of a respectable maiden. I was soon back in the corset and gown; everything adjusted even better. When everything was on, when my hair was done up properly, I truly did look like a lovely maiden. I felt beautiful, though a part of me wondered how I would look in a red gown. Perhaps that was a curiosity I could sate later.

I got fully into character before the curtains opened, I was happy to see my fellow "lords and ladies" do the same. The "women" were curtseying and minding their skirts, the "men" were bowing and shaking hands on occasion. Everyone looked so different, like all of us has been out into different skin though we were ourselves. The magic of the theater and costuming; someone could become a wholly different person with just some clothing and make-up.

A sizable crowd was in the theater; not nearly the numbers we had been having since the review but still a healthy audience. It was understandable; this show had been billed a "special in-depth exploration of Shakespeare's 'The Taming of the Shrew' through dramatic readings and character exploration" (a truly brilliant set-up if I ever saw one). I guessed most of the patrons would either be serious Shakespeare enthusiasts, those interested in a quiet reading, those with nothing better to do, or those who knew the joke. Colin still said this was the largest audience for one of these readings we had ever had. Many of our new admirers were in for a surprise.

Everyone was standing in wait as the curtains opened for the first scene. Aunt Roberta stepped out as Sly, she looked nigh indistinguishable from a common gent. We could hear a few polite claps at first, then she opened her mouth. A few more people seemed to get the joke judging by the chuckles, but when James said his lines as the Hostess it was peals of laughter.

Jane was even better as Lucentio than Bianca. I think she was mimicking my delivery a bit; imitation is the sincerest form of flattery after all. Then it was my turn to go out with George and the rest. We were greeted with riotous applause and roaring laughter; the two leading men were now the leading ladies. George was amazing as Katharina; he played such a harping bitch. His stuffed corset and yellow gown with that poofed up, curly wig made him even more brilliant. I went into my delivery as Bianca, playing a little more delicately than Jane ever did but bringing in a bit more spirit. I was naturally reading from the book but I was proud of myself that I was remembering a good portion of the lines.

It was such a fun show, the audience ate everything up. I was having a bang up time out there. By the end I really felt like an amorous young girl. I did exaggerate Bianca's swooning over Lucentio a bit, getting some stifled laughs from Lucentio herself. It just felt so free to be a bit more foolish; perhaps I should do more comedy. Perhaps I should play more women in general.

The last scene finally came. I was pressed against Lucentio lovingly as "he" delivered the last line, then the curtain closed to thunderous applause. We were a huge hit. The audience greeted us at curtain call like conquering heroes (and heroines of course). I blew kisses to the crowd, George went up and threw off his wig to louder cheers. We were on top of the world at that moment.

We then left the stage exhilarated, everyone was in such a happy mood. Alas it was time for all of us to leave and time for me to part with my gown. I took off the gown, undid my hair, washed off my make-up, and got back into my gentleman's clothes. It was a bittersweet moment, though I was still running on a high from the performance.

I was giddy even the next morning, dressing in a nice red waistcoat and black suit. The moment I got back into the carriage and saw Jacob going over his usual paperwork everything just sank. I was the living dead through work. At one point I told myself this was the true work of Richard Morris; the stage star who could play a dashing gentleman and a beautiful lady. Alas stage does not pay all that much so this is his day job. His "normal" work is done under the name Grell Sutcliff, but that is only a "normal" alias. Tonight the fine actor will be rehearsing; his true profession. This is just a way to make money. I believe I concocted this fantasy so well I did not immediately reply when someone called for "Mr. Sutcliff." It took me a moment, though I had to recognize my stage name in this particular production. Perhaps going onstage was returning to reality; this was just a well-crafted farce. I think I broke myself of this near the end of the day; I liked my Christian name a bit too much to dismiss it so.

Thankfully the name Richard Morris was not being talked about at all after last night's performance, including by Jacob. The reading simply slipped everyone's notice; such a sad state when one's mere attire can potentially smear one's reputation. What a pathetic society we lived in. Colin presented a few small reviews the next morning; mostly little murmurs on back pages. One critic praised our diversity and fluidity of talents, another called it a perverse display by overrated amateurs who do not care for their reputations. We had a laugh at all of them, the positive ones holding a bit more weight with everyone. We returned to the usual rehearsal routine, another sold out show the next night. A few of my lady admirers noted how fair I was to look like such a beautiful woman, some said in clear jest that they were almost jealous. Even a few male guests shook my hand and praised my courage to take part in such a spectacle.

Within a few weeks the reading was but a memory and we were headfirst into our current production. "Taming of the Shrew" was scheduled through the middle of May, a little over a month away. Time had flown so quickly. Colin said the next play would be the big drama for the summer season, though there was no talk yet of what it would be or how soon we would know. It was just preliminary talk, "Taming of the Shrew" was still very much alive and active. We still had packed houses, a few numbers dropped off as time passed after the article though we still had healthy turnout.

In late April Jacob asked me to attend a meeting with a new accountant we were using. He wanted me to better understand the books, also to gauge whether or not this guy seemed trustworthy.

"You are an amazing judge of character," Jacob said, "Unafraid to put people to the test."

I was also completely paranoid and a bit of an unfair judge of character. I was the perfect man for this little test.

I was working on some plans when I pulled myself away to get to the meeting. I entered the small meeting room off to the side and saw Jacob sitting at the table with a few executives plus this gentleman, Robert Pendleton I believe his name was. Jacob introduced me, I shook his hand politely. He gave me this bizarre look, almost like he was examining me. I merely took my seat at the table and the meeting started. Mr. Pendleton was constantly looking over at me, I was at a bit of a loss on what his matter was. I snuck a few looks at him, trying to remember if I had seen him anywhere before.

My memory then caught up with me; I saw him outside the theater. He had a young lady with him, his daughter if I remembered correctly. I remembered her clasping my hands and declaring her absolute admiration for my performance…and my handsome face, and my lovely red hair. Her father was repeatedly trying to pull her away verbally, a lot of "yes dear, now it is time for us to leave," a lot of eye rolls. At last he pulled her away and she parted with blown kisses. I overheard him say to her, "He's just an actor, dear. You should be putting your affections more on a lad of means." I remembered the comment, but forgot the face of the man who made it. That face was now repeatedly looking at me during that meeting. Lad of means, huh?

The meeting ended and Jacob hurried off to whatever he had to deal with at the time. Mr. Pendleton asked for a private word with me, I casually pulled him aside into an empty office so no one would think anything amiss.

"Forgive me, but I believe we have met before," he said.

"Yes we have," I said. "It took me a while to remember but I certainly did."

He leaned in a bit closer, thankfully the regular din of the office allowed for more unnoticed talk.

"So this is what the famous Richard Morris does when he's offstage," he said.

"It's a little hobby of mine," I said. The words made my stomach clench but they were necessary in this situation.

"Better than being a starving actor," he said.

I chuckled a bit, feeling a bit offended by the statement personally.

"Sir, that is a part of a more private life," I said. "Since we will be working together on a more regular basis, perhaps it would be best not to mention anything."

He slowly nodded, then stopped and looked at me.

"My daughter Hannah is a great admirer of yours, as you could see that day you met," he said. "She is 16, a very intelligent girl. If you would escort her on just one occasion my secrecy is guaranteed."

It was a dirty, underhanded tactic; I respected that. Besides she was a pretty little bird. I wouldn't mind just one occasion. I was tempted to ask if I was considered a man of proper means now? An actor is not as much of a desirable companion, though if he is nobility and a businessman the circumstances are a bit different.

"I would be delighted," I said politely. Why argue with the guy and risk further exposure?

I ended up escorting the girl to a spring garden party. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw me, her father introduced me by my real name. She whispered in my ear she wouldn't tell a soul who I was onstage.

"We can make this our own lovely secret," she whispered in my ear and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

She was a very lovely escort; an amazing dancer with such a knowledge of Shakespeare and music. Hannah was a delight to talk to; a bit green and overly giddy yes but a pleasure to be around. I told her at the end of the evening I wouldn't mind escorting her again, saying this with a kiss on the hand. Whether I actually meant it remained to be seen.

I returned home that evening recalling her kiss on the cheek, her lovely white dress, and thought on another fair personage I spent ample company with too long ago. Finally I got out pen and paper and wrote that letter to dearest Pierre I had been so neglecting. I asked him to forgive me for my lateness in reply. I related some of my more modest adventures, especially my turn in the theater. I told him how much I missed those long nights talking, his mere presence, asked him how Paris was doing since I left it. I kept my speech relatively restrained lest someone get hold of the note and find something scandalous.

I sealed the letter, readied it for a messenger the next day, then settled into the bath and massaged out some sudden inspiration; some recollections of a much happier time. It wasn't the same of course, but I just needed to think on his tender caresses, the way he moved his body, the way I melted under his touch. It was enough to make me quiver in breathlessness.

I realized I was overdue for some "intimate gentlemanly company" as Jacob put it. It had been over four months since the Phantomhive party, since the rude interruption by those ruffians. There had been a few parties since then, a few moments with a few whores that didn't mean anything; stale bread to sate me, though now I desired a more illicit feast. Perhaps I should keep an eye open for opportunities.


	33. Part 33

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 33**

May had just begun and Jacob was asking me if I had given any more thought to what school I wished to attend. It was an unsurprising question though somewhat of an embarrassing one. I honestly had barely given the matter any thought; perhaps I had been a little too distracted to consider it, though I estimated I had a bit of time to decide.

"I would give the matter some thought soon," Jacob said. "I got a letter from Matthew yesterday and he was rather insistent that you come up with a choice as soon as possible."

"I thought I had until the end of summer to make that decision," I said. "That was part of the agreement; I would take the exams in late summer for enrollment in the fall."

"Apparently he would prefer you make that decision a bit sooner, give yourself plenty of time to prepare, maybe take time to visit the schools. I can't say as though I blame him, though I myself am a little aggravated by his insistence. Better earlier than later I suppose."

I endeavored to do a bit more research on both schools. It was becoming more tempting to just say I would attend Oxford since Jacob and Matthew had such close connections to Cambridge. Though perhaps Cambridge would be more accommodating. The thought did cross my mind that perhaps Matthew wished for an earlier decision in the event I did not pass the entrance exam of the first school and needed plenty of time to prepare for the exam of the next. It was a reasonable expectation, though I doubted Matthew would relish the idea of me not entering any university…actually it was I who should be more disturbed by that prospect under the circumstances.

A few days after my conversation with Jacob a letter was delivered to my apartment. I first saw the family seal, then saw Matthew's name on the envelope. I waited until the messenger was a safe distance away and uttered a few curses in reaction. Hearing about his reports secondhand from Jacob was trying enough, why the hell was he sending me a letter now? Considering how much hatred he likely still bore me for trying to kill his son, this wasn't going to be a pleasant letter. I sat down and ripped it open to get this the hell over with.

_Dearest brother_

That was a promising introduction, or sweetness to make the poison go down easier.

_I felt I was overdue to write you personally. Jacob has been giving me such generous reports on your progress in London. I am very proud of your productivity and how you have been keeping an upright reputation with our employees and business partners._

Those reports from Jacob should have been pithy and far between, though I had to remember who was being discussed. Considering how Matthew seemed to think I was being a productive man of business holding up the family's reputation, perhaps Jacob was keeping up his end of our bargain.

_I have also had pleasant correspondence from Mr. Finley, your tutor._

Balls. No, this shouldn't have been a surprise either. I would have to keep an extra eye on the old bugger.

_He informed me you are most clever and astute student, one of great academic knowledge._

But…

_However he did say you seem very easily distracted and you have lagged a bit with some of your work. I would ask you to be a bit more mindful of your duties. You are most intelligent, Grell, but learning requires more dedication and effort. We are paying good money to give you such an education outside of formal schooling. Mr. Finley is also a fair man; I can assure you the university environment will not be so generous._

At last we could get to the true purpose of this letter.

_On the topic of university, Jacob told me that you had not yet declared any preference for which school you would like to attend. I do not know if this means you have equal interest in either Cambridge or Oxford or if you could care less about the whole matter. Jacob informed me of his first conversation with you on this topic in January. I will be turning the calendar to May in just a few days as I look at the letter from Jacob saying you still have no expressed any school preference. _

_Our agreement is that you will be enrolled in school in less than four short months and enrollment requires not only the entrance exam but also an application process, adequate preparation for the exam, hopefully with at least one visit to make you familiar with the school. I certainly hope you have simply not voiced a decision, but I will make the process a bit easier for you. If your preference is Cambridge, you need make no action or no indicator of interest. I will be working with Mr. Finley in sending your application letters to the school next month. If your preference is Oxford, you have until the last week of May to reply to this letter stating your desires. _

_Please stay on target with your studies. Hard work and a good education will make you a successful man._

_I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits._

_Sincerely,_

_Matthew_

This was the first time he had ever signed a letter to me with his forename only; no formalities, just a familiar name. Apparently it was supposed to put my mind at ease, patronize me like a peer and not an authority figure. I stared at that signature, ripping it off the bottom of the page and tossing it aside.

There were three pages to that letter; I ripped each one to thin strips. I then sat in front of the fireplace and set the corner of each to a candle, watching every word go black then disintegrating in flame. I would wait until the flame consumed the paper halfway then throw it in with the kindling. I had to be careful not to burn myself. I did get singed a few times but it was a clearing pain; one that turned my focus forward and maybe a bit out of my head. By the time I got to the last bit of paper scraps the fire inside my brain had cooled a bit.

This was my own fault. I had not spent any mental energy whatsoever considering what school I wished to attend. The truth was he was right; I didn't give a toss about the whole thing. If I had my way I wouldn't do either, though perhaps my way was hardly the best at this point. I did think on my fellow players; all simple working people of limited means. The little money we got was probably needed coin for them. What would any of them do to have the chance to attend university at all, let alone from another's pocket? As much as I would think it charitable to give my school money to any of them, I had no options in this matter. The best thing for me to do was to appreciate this opportunity I truly had; this opportunity of a brat from a rich family being herded into his future…or so everyone thought. Still I had to count my blessings.

I did save one scrap for last, the ripped section with Matthew's signature. I held it over the candle, picturing his fat form in some comfortable chair. Every lick of flame was a lick against his body; catching his clothes ablaze and charring every ounce of pristine flesh to an orchestra of screaming. I wondered if there were any incantations I could say to make it a reality; that kind of thing was no longer prosecuted after all.

"Matthew Reginald Henry Sutcliff, arsehole," I whispered as the paper went up. "Hocus pocus pater noster, die in the slowest, most painful way possible, you pathetic, fat fuck."

The paper went completely up, licking my thumb in the process. I flung the paper into the hearth with a little yelp, seeing a nice red mark on my flesh. My own bloody fault, the burn did return me to my senses a bit. I put a little butter on it and bandaged it up, it was barely noticeable. Jacob did ask me about the bandage the next morning, out of conversation I suppose. I told him I got careless lighting a candle. He just left it at that and went back to his newspaper.

"I received a letter from Matthew the other day," I said in the same pleasant tone Jacob always used when delivering such news to me.

Jacob looked up at me with a blank expression.

"Really, what made him actually say something to you face-to-face?" Jacob replied.

"My schooling; apparently I have until the end of the month to communicate any desire to attend Oxford. Otherwise he will go right ahead and send my paperwork to Cambridge."

Jacob gave a profound eye roll.

"The responsible response would be to say this shouldn't come as any surprise," he said. "Time is closing in and you have had ample opportunity to consider it."

"That was essentially what he said. Though what would be the irresponsible response?"

"That he's being a git, to put it plainly," Jacob said. "Never did he say anything to me about such plans. He told me he was giving you a bit more time, I had no idea he was going to offer any rubbish ultimatums. Either he would rather start going through you directly or he is offering idle threats. It is clear that he's trying to force your hand; I don't agree with such a tactic, but things are as they are."

"I figured that was the case."

"Considering his temperament, especially towards you, I would feel fortunate he is giving this much of an option. I wouldn't put it past him to offer no alternatives to missing deadlines. Consider this his version of generosity and take it for what it's worth."

"True true."

"Besides, Cambridge is indeed a fine school. Your brother and I got an enviable education there and look where we are now. You will be carrying on a wonderful fraternal tradition."

I waited a week, a polite span so this did not look suspicious. Then I sent a letter to Matthew.

_It has indeed been a difficult process choosing a preferred university. I apologize with the lateness of my reply, I have been doing independent research, though privately and on my own accord. I have decided I would prefer to apply to Oxford University. Jacob has told me wonderful things about a Cambridge education, though I believe Oxford might be a better environment. I greatly admire the University's history of producing critical thinkers and great talents. I would ask that you send my admission papers there._

I didn't say anything to Jacob. Given the average delivery time of two letters, I figured I could give him another week before saying something. In the meantime I did visit a few libraries and did some research on Oxford. It seemed like a fine school; a center of knowledge and discourse. Quite a few writers attended, music was rather popular. This place couldn't be all that bad. I looked up Cambridge too to see what I was missing. Isaac Newton attended there; that was about the only difference.

With the university rubbish out of the way, I could now look forward to the big announcement on what the summer tragedy would be. Colin had been teasing us for a week; giving us no hints or even a field of potential choices. He would only say, "It has been a difficult decision, I am mulling over a few prospects" with a little smile. At last he told us on a Sunday he would have an announcement and scripts ready on Wednesday's rehearsal.

On Wednesday we completed rehearsal, then Colin gathered us around with a script in his hand. With all attention on him he turned the script over and showed the cover to all of us; "The Tragedy of Hamlet." All of us cheered, he started passing out scripts. I already knew what part I was going for; the reading would be next Wednesday and I would take plenty of time to prepare.

"I am very happy to announce we will be joined by three more people at the reading," Colin said. "A few people have expressed interest in joining our company and taking the stage for themselves."

Everyone gave little happy chuckles and laughs. New people, brilliant; always nice to add to our ranks. None of them had a chance in hell of getting Hamlet though, this was my fucking role no exceptions. It was my turn for the lead role, Colin said as much. Well he said the second lead usually gets the main role, cycling through and all that. If he was lying to me to sate my previous disappointment, I'd smash his face in. No joke.

Just days after we got the script, just days after I started reading over the Danish Prince's lines, Mr. Finley makes a pointed announcement that he wishes to add an extra day of tutoring as the summer came upon us and testing would take place in a few months. It wasn't exactly happy news but it was completely expected. I asked for Monday after work for my extra tutoring day, he was agreeable thankfully. The last thing I needed was something that would cut directly into my play schedule.

He was giving me extra work too; finding time to look over the lines and manage the pages of equations and theses he was having me go over would be difficult. It was just another challenge for me, one I would accomplish with greatness. Matthew's last letter did make me fully aware that my tutoring progress was being scrutinized, if I was going to manage this delicate balance I would have to pay more mind to my studies. I should have been doing that anyway; I should have been giving full priority to my lessons and preparation for university. Still the concept of being nothing more than a dull student was a bit repulsive. Perhaps there would be plenty of time for that at school; for now I had to savor the blessings of my life in London all I could.

I started putting aside more money into my account in Holborn, not only putting in my theater wages but also adding in a bit more of my pocket money. I wanted to have much more money at my private disposal away from any family watch. The longer I did this the more would accumulate that I could live on in case the worst happened. I could do with fewer new rings and less nights out at fancy gentleman's clubs; if a little less gave me a comfortable life aside from the family then it was all worth it.

I was making a point of buying less liquor, only keeping a few bottles of wine and maybe one bottle of cognac. I figured if I had a bad night and drained the whole bottle, it was my folly I would have to live with. Besides I wanted less temptation for distraction around myself; a night of drunkenness at home was the loss of several hours of precious time doing my lessons or studying Hamlet's lines. A few nights I noticed I was pacing around my apartment a bit with the script in my hand, my mouth dry and my head throbbing. I would put on a kettle, make the roughest, blackest tea imaginable and slurp down cup after cup. If I memorized a section or completed a page of equations, I would allow myself a small glass of cognac afterward but just the one.

The effort was worth it, I had to get this part; end of story, no exceptions. I was tempted to give Colin the news of my immanent departure now; tell him this would be my last play before being carted off. I was sure that would win me the lead role out of sympathy. However that was a difficult conversation I wasn't comfortable having with a handful of months to spare. As desperate as I was for the role, I did want to gain it by my own talent and not through cheap sympathy. Apparently it was tradition for the secondary role in one play to take the lead in the next play and I was due to be the leading man. I had amply proven myself as Lucentio, I helped get us a glowing major review that packed houses and put pounds upon pounds in his pocket; I was owed this much. But then nobody in this company could be a brighter star than anyone else, maybe Colin would deny me the role on principle alone. Maybe he would give me another little smile and tell me I still was too green for such a part; this time I would call it a lie outright. I knew I was ready for this.

At last Wednesday came. I had most of the part memorized already, but I specifically prepared Hamlet's opening soliloquy; the scene after we meet the treacherous king and queen when Hamlet is left alone to lament the arseholes around him. I've always had a fondness for that scene.

I went in the theater and saw Colin at the front of the room, beside him two men and one lady I had never seen before that day; the new prospects. He introduced them to us, though I forgot their names in a second. We welcomed them politely, good to have new people in the group of course. I hoped neither of these wankers had their heart set on Hamlet.

Sure enough both of the chaps said they prepared his lines. It was the main role and a likely choice to start with, didn't mean they were going to get it; odds were they would play a guard or some random extra with the Norwegian forces. Ephraim was going for Hamlet as well. I then stepped up and announced my intentions, seeing a little smirk from Colin.

The auditions for Hamlet took place first, everyone gathering around with interest. Colin called up Ephraim first, he did the "Alas poor Yorrick" speech; wooden skull in hand. He was pretty good, a nice hesitant prince with a bit of tender pathos. One of the newer guys, Christian I think, was up next. Predictably, he did the main "To be or not to be" speech; bellowing, overdramatic delivery and all.

Colin called the last new guy next, hopefully so he could stand out on his own and not have to follow me. I think his name was Terry and he did the "Alas poor Yorrick" speech too. He was good actually, not good enough for a seasoned actor of course but good. As he went on he was actually doing a better job; excellent delivery and strong command of the lines. He did trip over a couple words, that's when I knew I had nothing to fear.

My turn was next, I confess I had a bit of nerves going in. I took a breath, then reached deep in my mind for why I loved this speech so much.

"O, that this too too solid flesh would melt," I began. "Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd his canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, seem to me all the uses of this world!"

I thought of my situation as I recited those lines. When I spoke of Claudius coming together with Gertrude I imagined every treachery of my family, though my thoughts fell a little deeper. I couldn't help it, my mind connected to this every time I read this speech.

"So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother that he might not beteem the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him, as if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on: and yet, within a month — Let me not think on't — Frailty, thy name is woman!"

I was thinking on a different couple, a different husband and wife of lies and treachery. Not so loving, in fact absolutely loathing each other, yet the term "mother" still applied to this tragic hero reading these lines. The poisoning was still there though of a different king…or in this story a baron; the wailing tears over the grave she put him in were the same. I wasn't thinking on this in sadness or anger but dark irony, still wondering of she were ever really a friend to me. Maybe in this moment I was still speaking for myself and not for dear Hamlet, maybe we were alike in too many ways…no, I was a more ignoble bastard.

I still kept my bearings through this whole thing, keeping myself from screaming and adding curses. I was still the actor not the character, though the actor himself was but a character. This was all just one play within another. At last I reached the last line.

"It is not nor it cannot come to good: But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue."

That summed up much.

A round of applause broke me from my reverie. I looked back at the audience, a bit out of breath but giddy. I saw nothing but awestruck looks on everyone's faces, though Colin's brow was slightly furrowed and his eyes wide. If I didn't know any better I would think he were a bit concerned.

Readings continued; the new girl…Abigail…maybe, read for Ophelia. She was a lovely little thing, very well practiced and did a fine rendition of a pathetic, willowy Ophelia. At the end of the night Colin once again said he would announce the parts at the end of the next night's performance. I left with the others, though I saw somewhat of a lingering look from Colin. I hope this humanitarian concern wouldn't prevent Colin from giving me the blasted part, or maybe such amazing acting came from such a little egg as me that he was stunned. The temptation came over me again to tell him about university, maybe pull him aside for a private talk. I just left; let him decide this by merit only.

I barely slept that night, my hands were a bit shaky the next day. Considering my extra lessons and the recent pressure from Matthew, I wasn't breathing a word of any of this to Jacob just yet. I would rather avoid any more speeches about how I shouldn't get too distracted from things that mattered…to him and Matthew. At last work was over, I tried to keep an even tone with Jacob amidst the banter in the carriage, and was finally going home. I rushed to the theater, got on Lucentio per usual, and threw myself into the performance. It was a wonderful distraction from my nerves.

Curtain call came, then we all gathered backstage. The new prospects were there too, a few of the company members showed them the costumes and rigging before Colin gathered us all around.

"This will be our major summer production, a jewel in our crown," Colin said. "All of you gave stunning readings and this was a most difficult decision."

Get on with the bloody speeches and give us the damn news.

"For Hamlet, our lead prince…"

He paused for a moment, my heart was practically crawling into my throat.

"Mr. Richard Morris."

It took a second for this to sink in, for a moment I didn't even recognize my own stage name. Then I heard the clapping and felt hands pat me on the back and shoulders. Bloody hell I did it. I really did it. I broke from my shock and walked up to Colin, giving him a large hug; my throat closing and eyes aching with the threat of tears. I pulled back and gave a little shout in happy reaction, though it was more to keep from weeping.

Ephraim was named as Horatio, Sam was Laertes, George was Rosencrantz and the new bloke Terry apparently good enough to play Guildenstern. Ophelia was a lovely raven-haired actress from our company named Shannon. Polonius was given to James, our current Sly; Colin did want to mind the age of the characters. Colin himself was Claudius, taking one of the older ladies Margaret as Gertrude. As for the other new ones, Christian was given Marcellus, Abigail was one of the players though she said she only wanted to learn technique all she could. The rest of the parts were disseminated.

"The Taming of the Shrew" would end in two weeks. "Hamlet" would start in the middle of June as the season was coming upon us and run through late August. This would indeed be my last hurrah before leaving London, my legacy. I would still have to find a time to tell Colin that I was not long for this company, it was a prospect that made my stomach clench.

As if fate wanted another laugh at my expense, I received a letter from Matthew the next day.

_I did receive your letter. It warms my heart to know you have been giving such consideration to your studies. Oxford is a most respectable choice; a haven of thinking and study where you will receive a world-class education. I will work with Mr. Finley and we will send your papers to Oxford. _

Another bit of bollocks out of the way so I could move on with my bloody life…or so I thought. What was the first thing Jacob says to me in the carriage the next morning?

"Did you receive a letter from Matthew within the past few days?"

Shit, I forgot to tell Jacob about Oxford.

"I did in fact," I replied.

"As did I, he must have sent them at the same time," Jacob said. "So you've decided on Oxford."

I saw a wry smirk on his face after saying this.

"I did indeed," I said. "I'm sure Cambridge is a fine school…"

"But Oxford is finer still without the lingering smell of a few past ghosts."

"I had other reasons," I retorted, but I knew it was futile.

"And I'm sure you found those reasons for your choice of university, the place where you will spend at least four years of learning, after ample consideration of a week," Jacob replied. "Matthew mentioned the timing of your letter compared to the letter you had just received. In fact he made a note of that. I would ask if you had been actually giving it more thought beforehand and didn't want to say anything, but I have my suspicions such was not the case."

I was done with his little hinting around, his light stepping before moving in.

"That angers you, doesn't it," I said.

"Not especially. You choose wherever you would like to go. The only thing that concerns me is the fact you made such an important decision a bit hastily."

"A choice between two schools alike in many ways, separated by their unique characteristics; both of which will get me an education everyone else in the world would beg, steal, and kill to have. No offense, brother, but I wasn't much in the mood to be choosy."

Fuck it, you don't want me to hide I won't. You want me to speak bloody plainly, I will.

Jacob simply looked at me with an even expression.

"And you're wondering if I chose Oxford because it's not the school you and Matthew went to, my answer is an unequivocal yes," I continued. This was feeling good. "Cambridge may be a fine bloody school and you and our dearest baron may have friends in high places that could shuffle me in. Thank you kindly, but no. I will create my own legacy on my own merits."

Jacob looked at me for a moment, then smiled wide.

"I consider that sound enough reasoning," he said with a nod.

I smirked, then sat back in my seat.

"I do love it when you drop the gentlemanly act," Jacob said. "You need to do so more often. We all know what happens when you bottle too much in."

I sighed hard with a little laugh.

"Be careful, I may just get used to this," I said.

"Oh please do."

A few days later when we met at Jacob's house for a little tea meeting for business I did mention to him that I would be playing Hamlet. I was expecting a lecture, instead he smiled wide and clapped.

"Congratulations, playing the Danish prince himself," Jacob said. "Such a talent you are. I might just have to stop by for a performance. I was always fond of 'Hamlet.'"

For once I would actually welcome his presence; perhaps I did want to do a bit of showing off. Jacob didn't mention anything about university or studies, perhaps it was fully sinking in that all this was my responsibility.

Jacob would get his opportunity soon, we were counting down to the last days of "Taming of the Shrew." I actually found the prospect bittersweet. I had fun during this production; I had a major role, I gained much admiration, and was given the opportunity to explore myself creatively. I was somewhat sad to see it end, though I was looking forward more to starting "Hamlet." "Shrew" was just an introduction, this would be my grand debut as a true star.

At last we met again on a Sunday night for the final night of "The Taming of the Shrew." I donned Lucentio's costume for the last time and got onstage for my final moments with dearest Bianca. Closing night was a packed house, so many people came to see this show off. I delivered the last line of the play with great art, then the curtain closed. I went out for curtain call, roses and daisies falling at my feet on the stage to screaming applause. We took hands, then gave our final bow, taking a moment to savor the thunderous applause.

At last the applause died down, we left the stage to each other's embraces; ending another fine show. We toasted our successes at the pub later, sharing some highlights and some jokes. All of us were at our best, all of us were brothers and sisters and left with handshakes and embraces. I would return home later and just lie on my couch with this lovely afterglow.

I raved about the previous night's performance to Jacob the next morning and he listened with interest. He seemed genuinely happy for me. It was a conversation that put me in a much lighter mood going into the office. On the way home, Jacob mentioned he was having his private tailor come over on Saturday. He wanted me to come over and get measurements done for a few new suits. It would be his treat; I would need some new, respectable clothes when going for university visits or for taking the entrance exam. Since this was a family requirement, may as well put family money for some smart clothes.

"We'll consider it a reward for your recent success," Jacob said.

I was agreeable, better out of his pocket than mine.

Wednesday was the first day of rehearsals for "Hamlet," this whole session was a reading. I dove into Hamlet's lines, already reciting many of them from memory. I had slight nerves about the sheer weight of lines for this part. The moment I started reading them, it was a heft I lifted with vigor; a rejuvenating exercise. I was ready to get fully into rehearsals.

At the end of the session as everyone was leaving, Colin quietly pulled me aside.

"Richard I must speak plainly," he said. "Your audition for this part was mesmerizing; it broke my heart, it was like you were Hamlet in those moments."

I could tell by the tone of his voice this wasn't just a moment to stroke my ego.

"I could really see that you delved within a very deep place in yourself, a chimney to a blackened flue," he continued. "However that was one moment, you will have a few hundred performances ahead of you. I understand what you are bringing in, though please do so a small bit at a time. Do not throw yourself into that place for every performance, it will only burn you out. Some men have even gone mad from staying there. Use it, but don't live there. That is the best advice I can give you."

They were wise words indeed.

"I shall take great heed of your advice, I would rather express and not ruin," I said.

"Richard I sensed much pain in your delivery. If ever you are in need of a friendly word, do not hesitate to talk to me."

I smiled wide, the words truly warming my heart.

"I shall remember this, Colin," I said. "Thank you."

His words rang in my mind as I left. Perhaps I could trust him, perhaps I could share with him who I really was. I could express to him some of my frustrations…and have them all shoved back in my face and laughed at. After all I was a noblesse boy, Colin worked with the everyday man; my troubles were but trifles. Could I even trust everything said to him wouldn't get repeated for a good price? I had to really convince myself it was a bad idea, a part of me still hung on to a sliver of hope. Perhaps it was worth considering in the future, I at least had that string to clutch even if it was a phantom one.

I tried not to think on our conversation the rest of the week, though I did make sure I wasn't pressing myself or any ill thoughts too hard. Colin seemed to like what I was doing, but these were just the first few days.

As requested, I was at Jacob's townhouse on Saturday morning. I stood in a little room in shirt and britches in front of a heavy balding man with a little ponytail as he pushed his little tape measure against every curve and length of my body. Why couldn't Jacob have hired a more physically appealing man to do this? I boredly watched him enter the numbers into a little book, seeing a few rough sketches of some coats and waistcoats with some fabric and color notations.

They were smart shapes, but still the usual boring business suit; blacks and grays and browns everywhere. I was tempted to ask him to make something a little grander, a little more fit for parties; something with more ruffles, something red perhaps. Another idea suddenly passed through my mind, an utterly ridiculous idea but one that kept me amused through this whole session. An idea that allowed me to pretend this session were happening under a completely different set of circumstances.

After the measurements were taken, the tailor thanked me and jotted down a few more numbers into his book. I fully dressed, then approached him; I then asked if I could take down the measurement numbers. No offense to his work, of course, but I would like to have them for reference.

"Let me guess, you want to order another outfit for the coming season," the tailor said with a little smirk. "Possibly something a little more ostentatious, maybe something from France? I will give you the numbers, but I will certainly do any private work you request."

I thanked him for his offer, saying I would consider it; this project, however, was something I would rather no respectable tailor knew about lest it come back to bite me. I certainly had no interest in Jacob finding out about this. He copied the numbers onto a piece of paper, I took the paper and gave him an extra crown for his cooperation. I kept the paper aside for a while, knowing how expensive this prospect might be not to mention the potential for gossip or scandal even if I did this right. I was trying to save as much money aside as I could, but I was due for a little reward; especially with "Taming of the Shrew" over.

I looked around at other shapes, looking at the numbers and estimating some alterations in a few areas. It was the beginning of June when I finally took steps. The season would be starting soon and I figured most of the rush for nice outfits was probably over. I found a shop around Marylebone that had some lovely items in the windows. I approached the shop tailor with the measurements in hand.

"I have never done this before, so you will have to forgive me if I ask anything impossible," I said. "I have a lady friend, a very charming girl who will be coming from the coast for the season. I would like to get her a gown as a present; I spoke to her own private tailor and got her measurements, but I would like to have a nice, London-made dress for her. This will be a complete surprise."

The tailor explained to me such might be difficult; gowns are a rather precise art requiring a more custom fitting. There is always the possibility her shape might have changed since these measurements, "I am certainly not saying they have but one can never be too careful." He did say he could make the garment and have my lady friend come in for a more proper fitting after she arrived in London. If she disliked the dress, if it fit completely wrong, then he would not be held responsible for it and I would have to pay for any replacements or proper fittings. I was most agreeable to this. I did ask that this transaction be kept completely discreet, a few extra crowns ensured this. I was using an assumed name for this order, that was a start.

I sat with the gentleman to work the details. Her favorite color is red, I told him; I wanted something red yet tastefully so, like a rich shade of burgundy. She likes lace too, the more the better. Something with a more slender shape, please; she dislikes anything too big. He did some sketches, sketches infinitely more lovely than the ones Jacob's tailor did. At last he produced the loveliest thing: a modest bodice lined with white lace, a billowing shirt that kept more to the hips, ruffled cuffs, it was gorgeous. It was a bit pricy of course, but it was a treat. I paid the deposit and was told to check into the shop in a week for progress. We shook hands, a wide smile was on my face and I left the shop practically skipping.

Oh I could not wait to see how I looked in this beautiful garment.


	34. Part 34

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 34**

I heeded Colin's words about not absorbing myself too much in my own darkness in playing Hamlet. It was a tricky task at first but one that I was able to accomplish. After a while I was summoning less of my own pain and channeling Hamlet's turmoil. I empathized with the chap greatly, perhaps it was only natural I started to feel his struggles were my own. This was my character, this was the man I was embodying onstage, I needed to become him.

I did have to pull myself back a bit. When Ephraim forgot a line in the middle of rehearsal, I held myself back from screaming at him. There were a few times when Shannon pulled back a bit with a little whine if I grabbed her arm too hard, I knew I needed to be a bit gentler. Such was the challenge; I couldn't entirely become this character; I was merely playing him. Considering my temper, forgetting this could be a dangerous prospect.

Sometimes in the office, however, I would amuse myself with the thought that I was Hamlet at this dull desk. I was a prince immersed in studying his subjects, though I was of regal birth. I would see Jacob and would think of Polonius; an idiot in the service of a villain. I did an effective job convincing myself I was actually Hamlet, at times I almost wanted to weep for the betrayals around me and my overwhelming hesitation to serve justice; then I would want to weep for how true this all was.

Around the middle of June, Jacob and I did take a visit to Oxford. Jacob thought it best to have at least one visit before I went back for the exam. The earlier the better, the season was gradually settling in. He also said he wanted to take this one trip while I was in rehearsals; the less time taking me away from my moment at center stage the better, he said. I did appreciate his sentiment. I told Colin I had some work matters to attend to for the weekend, he bid me well. I almost told him the news then but decided against it; perhaps it was best to tell him I was going to school when I was actually enrolled.

Jacob and I left on a Saturday morning. Oxford was half a day's ride from London. The city itself was beautiful; gorgeous spires and gothic architecture. Not as big as London naturally, though substantially larger than Aldeburgh. It had such an array of different shops and taverns, even some coffeehouses where men of intellect supposedly gathered for discourse. Matthew had arranged for a staff member to show us around campus. I was most impressed. I saw a massive school that housed men from all walks of life; mostly upper class of course but not all stuffy nobles. I did ask a few students about their experiences, getting into some informative conversations. These students were regular blokes like everyone else; they didn't just live and breathe books. They weren't just entitled little boys sitting in class to have their egos stroked either. I was actually enjoying the prospect of going here.

We stayed the night in a nice inn. Jacob and I walked the streets, had a veritable feast followed by sampling some country brews. We were actually conversing like normal gentlemen; discussing business and coming parties in public, ranting about idiot co-workers and spreading society gossip in private. I actually felt relaxed around him that whole trip. I was not dreading any ill news, I was not occupying myself with doubts, I was certainly not watching how I said things. I just spoke plainly and felt wholly relaxed.

After a visit to a most exquisite coffeehouse and looks through some shops on Sunday morning, we were on the road back for London in the afternoon. The sky was dark when we returned. I bade Jacob farewell at his apartment, feeling the sentiment was actually sincere for once.

On Monday I actually wasn't dreading the thought of being in a carriage with him. We ended up in a casual conversation about the season. He said I was excused from many parties of these on account of my studies, though his little wink when he said this meant I was off the hook for most play nights too. It was a relief; I didn't have to posture as much to insufferable boors. The rule was still in place that if we received an especially prestigious invitation I had no options not to attend. Most of the good invites were during the week (good as in wholly impolite). Apparently Earl Phantomhive was planning to host quite a few gatherings at his townhouse, specifically promising no misadventure…if it could be helped.

The trip to Oxford was a nice clearing one; one that put my surging mind a bit more at ease. That week we were going into dress rehearsals for "Hamlet" and I was going in a bit calmer. Speaking of "dress," my garment of red majesty was nearly completed and it was stunning. How I longed to feel that soft fabric over my skin, to look at myself and see a being of pure radiance. Of course I told the tailor my lady friend would love it.

As I waited for my dress, I was most content to don a billowing white shirt with a handsome black doublet to play Hamlet. My hair hung loose, the make-up enhanced some of my more angled features. I felt I truly was looking at a prince when I saw myself in the mirror; a handsome, dashing, virile prince. That image would be one I would keep in my mind and bring out whenever Mr. Finley droned about theorems or when the executives and the solicitors fought over the dull language of a patent.

I had a nice happy place to escape to amid all of this, one I would only keep without scrutiny if I performed all my duties as expected. This happy place, however, would only remain for two more months…then I would find another one at Oxford. I had to remind myself of this frequently. If I didn't get into university, all of this would be gone anyway. I didn't question the validity of that thought, though I was building enough money in my private coffers so that didn't have to be true.

I was listening a little more closely on some financial pratter amongst businessmen in club's or in the office, especially discussion on the markets. I heard such investments were a gamble; you could gain a whole chest full in one day and end up on the streets the next. Though if it made me some extra coin in addition to my theater salary or whatever wages I scraped off the top, it would be a worthy venture. I was also enjoying the possibility of having an extra source of income and not having to pinch pennies as hard as I had been. This was excluding the dress of course, though that indulgence did cost me a pretty bit of coin. I would be well served exploring all options, so I listened close to investment tips and the most profitable stocks of the day.

I counted down the days until the play opened, feeling more nervous about this one than usual. I wasn't the supporting player this time; I was the title character. A tiny voice in my mind would scream at me for taking this part in the first place yet it was quashed the second it uttered a peep. By the time we were but days away I was itching to get in my costume and leap on that stage; I wanted to hear all the claps and cheers meant for me.

At last the day came. Work was torture, even the travel between my apartment and the theater was nerve wracking. I tried not to enter the building with my chest out and voice bellowing like a conquering hero. I donned my costume, feeling like a warrior taking up his helm. We took part in the traditional pre-performance prayer then took places. Ephraim got ready behind out Bernardo and Francisco, Colin put on white sheets to play the ghost. The new egg Christian looked a bit nervous for his debut as Marcello. We all gave him hearty encouragement, even through my own annoyance at having to wait a bit longer though such was how the play went.

They all took the stage, "Hamlet" had officially begun. The first scene was done rather well. Ephraim was in great form, the new guy sounded a bit breathy at first but he was getting used to this rather quick. I tried to pay attention to how this scene went lest nerves completely take me. The first scene ended, all the players went backstage, Colin threw off his sheets and neatened up Claudius' costume. We all gave each other knowing glances and pats on the back before going out. Finally the set was struck and Colin and Gertrude went on first, followed by myself, Sam, and the rest. I was ready for this. Colin and Gertrude took their thrones, I stood next to Sam as waiting subjects. Sam did shoot me a wink, which I returned. Sam and I were getting on a bit better through rehearsals; he wasn't being as much of a git as he was during "Shrew" amid all the review nonsense. The curtains finally opened and all my nerves disappeared. In that moment I was Hamlet.

The rest of the players spoke their lines, I stood as an aggravated youth trying to be polite; I had done this so many times in reality that it was natural. Finally Colin spoke Claudius' lead-in line for Hamlet. I responded with a particularly caustic aside: "A little more than kin, and less than kind."

"How is it that the clouds still hang on you?" Claudius said next.

I snapped right back to being the proper young man.

"Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun," I replied with a polite smile.

I only now got the full grasp of how eerily familiar this was.

Gertrude gave her chiding words, I went into my first short speech.

"Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not 'seems,'" I replied. "'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, nor customary suits of solemn black, nor windy suspiration of forced breath, no, nor the fruitful river in the eye, nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, that can denote me truly: these indeed seem, for they are actions that a man might play: but I have that within which passeth show; these but the trappings and the suits of woe."

I delivered these words politely, but with a bit of a bite; sinking a bit more into my inspiration but only to a safe depth.

The scene continued. At last the rest of the company left, I was on that stage alone. I began the speech I auditioned with: "O, that this too too solid flesh would melt." That stage became my play field. All blocking and movement was practiced numerous times before but I got all use of that stage. I was the center of attention; myself, my grief, my anger, I was delivering it all out to the audience. Through Hamlet's lines I was sharing my torment. Then it was done, I was nearly blown back by the thunderous applause. They loved it, they loved me, their claps and cheers spoke their sympathy. Ephraim, Christian, and Nick as Bernardo then came on the stage. Everything after this was purely natural.

We left the stage to more loving applause and were given supportive claps from our fellow players. Colin especially patted me on the shoulder for how I did that speech, I did remind myself I till had a whole play to do. My next scene was with the ghost; more scenes to explore the depths of Hamlet's torment, though I made sure to keep a mental line around me lest I venture too far. That was my rule for the rest of the play; channel his pain yet not live in it. It was a hard task at first, but by the end I had more of a handle on it.

The "To be, or not to be" speech went smoothly, another proud moment where I was bathed in applause. I made sure to be gentler when grabbing Shannon's arm for the heated scene between Hamlet and Ophelia. I was especially fond of the scene with the players. The new girl Abigail was clearly green; she delivered her lines a bit clumsily, though she was given this part as a training. Hopefully by the next play she would be a bit more ready for a bigger role. I shut out the thought that I wouldn't be around for the next play lest it make me choke on my lines.

The subsequent scenes with Claudius struck a particular chord with me. Here was a treacherous bastard being exposed of his crimes, here I had to stay polite yet I was gloating off to the side. How I actually wanted to stand over certain relatives with a sword in hand ready to stick it in. My own hesitation was far greater than Hamlet's, I had never found myself in this position before. Still he did not act, and I never did either; appropriate. This thought made me a bit rougher with Gertrude than I initially practiced; my lines a bit more biting and a bit louder. I did hear a small yelp from James as I stabbed Polonius, knowing I must have poked him a bit hard with my foil. I knew then I needed to reel myself back a bit.

I did apologize to James when we went backstage, he just laughed it off. I hung about backstage for a bit, doing deep breathing to come down a bit so I could go back on a bit calmer for the more melancholy scenes coming next. This was a hard prospect whilst listening to Claudius and Laertes plot against me. I tried not to think of Matthew and Jacob, or better yet Matthew and Isaac having this conversation or the idea such a discussion might not be that far-fetched. I tried to shut it out; keep calm, Hamlet couldn't know what was going on behind closed doors. I didn't either but I couldn't concern myself with that now. Thankfully we had an intermission before going back on so I could better clear these dark thoughts from my mind.

I came back on with Ephraim a bit more refreshed for the graveyard scene. I took the wooden skull for the "alas, poor Yorrick" speech. This hadn't been one of my favorites; I usually found it so melodramatic and clichéd that I gave it little mind. It wasn't until I was on that stage in the midst of that scene that the gravity of it fell on me a bit. Old Hamlet was reflecting on the nature of death; even the greatest men will become bones and dust. Such had always been my fascination; perhaps such was how I viewed the world, especially for myself. In the end the Reaper would pay me a visit; no matter what school I went to no matter my profession, no matter how many plays I had done, how many people I bedded, how many people I killed, the end was all the same. What came after? Who cares, I know it wouldn't be pleasant for me but that's why they call it a "final reward."

I had to pull myself out of the moment again when the rest of the company came out, Shannon wheeled out in a cozy-looking coffin. The confrontation scene went marvelously, though I thought Sam could have been a bit more incensed as a mourning Laertes. Or perhaps I was just the one who could go from peaceful to murderous in an instant. The subsequent scene with Osric and his nonsense lightened my mood. Plus I was in awe of Ephraim's performance as Horatio; he played such a learned and caring gentleman. Both of us came in at the same time and he truly became a talented actor.

I was truly looking forward to the final scene; the one where everyone drops dead including me. Sam missed a few of our planned steps, though he improvised enough to make up for his error. I did a little improvising as well, reminding myself that I needed to practice my sword skills…lest I find myself in another ambush and outmatched. Laertes then stabbed me, Sam deflected the tip of his foil. How interesting would it be if he hadn't, if he gave me the tip of the foil head on, if there was no little tip, if I took the blade as planned. What if my blood showered on that stage, what if I died here in front of everybody; a young actor dies doing what he loves in front of hundreds of people. I couldn't think of a better death, alas I just felt the small press against my arm.

I was a bit more careful when I stabbed Laertes; making the wound look convincing yet not giving Sam the point of my foil head on. He played his dying scene rather well, as did Margaret. I was watching my mother die right there; I was watching the poison take her after so long though there was no maid to cover it up. I tried not to be relieved at this scene; I was Hamlet, I should be incensed.

I learned I was about to die too; the poison on my kinsman's foil was killing me as we speak. This was my moment to act on the tyrant. I poked Colin a bit hard, my lines cursing him out at last. If only I could do this to Matthew. If only I could leap on him with a more mortal blade. This was Colin, not Matthew; this was my friend, not my enemy, this was just a play. That calmed me, I yanked Colin's hair with a gentle force, putting the cup to his lips and raising it as if giving him the poison. He died, I started to stumble as if death was close to me as well.

I fell into Ephraim's arms, ignoring his horrible breath. He held onto me limply, I wanted to have a more loving embrace in my final moments but such was how I was going. I was dying listening to the Norwegian forces invading. I would go knowing that my awful family was ruined, our legacy of wickedness snatched from us. I would die a martyr.

"On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice," I gasped. "So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, which have solicited. The rest is silence."

I closed my eyes and let my body go limp. I heard some gasps and weeping in the audience. Finally someone cares enough about me to shed tears over my end. Ephraim spoke passionate words in tribute over my corpse. My ghost was listening to Fortinbras and his forces storm in. Fortinbras wanted me to be given the full posthumous honors of a soldier of Denmark. I would be paid high tribute, my death would be remembered by all.

The din of applause woke me from my reverie. I looked up to see the curtain closed, Ephraim nudging me to get up. I did so, a feeling of pure calm over me. I wasn't really dead, I was walking off the stage. I would continue to the next play and the next, I would continue to university, and to doing God only knows what. But first I would have to do curtain call, that fully shook me from my stupor.

The smaller roles went on first, then Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, then Laertes and Polonius, Claudius and Gertrude next. At last I went up hand in hand with our Ophelia. I was nearly blown back by the applause. Everyone was on their feet, flowers landed on the stage. I blew kisses to my adoring audience, stepping out a bit from Shannon and allowing some applause for myself. They loved it, they ate it up, all of them showering me with praises. I was the star tonight; it was one of the best feelings I had ever known.

We exited the stage like conquering heroes; yelping like maniacs and embracing like long lost siblings. Later at the pub, Colin toasted to a successful opening and he toasted to my abilities; or rather "A young man who has proven himself rather useful." I took his comments as the highest compliment.

I pounded back one after another, I called it celebration; in truth I was trying to chase out some lingering ghosts possessing me during that play. Somehow I ended up back home and passed out on my bed. I would wake to a loud knock on the door from Simon. I then hastily dressed and left for the carriage, dry heaving a few times before we picked up Jacob, then I was at my best composure.

"Opening night celebrating got a little rough I take it," Jacob said without missing a beat.

"What can I say, actors know how to have a grand time," I said with a smirk.

Jacob chuckled a bit.

"Try not to empty your stomach on any official papers," he replied, opening his newspaper. "Though I have a stack of proposals that would do well for such relief."

Jacob's jest made me dread going in the office a little less. By the end of the day I was feeling much better. It was perfect timing for my return to the stage that night.

Opening night was an intense experience, painfully so. I knew I could not get into that same place I was the night before; I needed to better heed Colin's words of warning. I brought my best performance to the stage though tried to think on my own troubles a little less. Thinking on them at all was excruciating, though perhaps a little natural numbing could help me. The applause was just as exuberant the second night as it was the first. The third night I was a bit more situated into the role, we sold out the night after.

Around the same time Mr. Finley was driving down a bit harder. I received a letter from Matthew telling me I was due to take the exam on the 25 of July, about a month away. It was on a Friday, meaning I would be missing at least two performances. I debated whether to give Colin the full news now or wait until I were actually accepted. I ended up telling him I was going away on business for a few nights. He amicably told me he would have someone ready to take the role those nights.

That out of the way, I could concentrate on Mr. Finley's stepped up routine. He added a fourth day to our schedule, Tuesday night. This would mean less time in the social scene for the next month, but such sacrifices were needed for education. The old bugger started to drill me on questions from a sample test he had from years ago. The questions were brutal, though not insurmountable.

I was afraid playing Hamlet and doing these lessons at the same time would be a maddening task, though I found the play a rather welcome break from all the questions and facts and figures. I had the lines memorized inside and out, I knew all the blocking and was far from afraid to improvise. The play was keeping me more sane than anything else.

As much as I was trying to put less of myself in the performance, I did find myself digging deep in some place every single night. I might have avoided the holes from certain scenes only to find myself digging into another rough patch from my life in another. I would often go home with this sinking feeling in my stomach, this nagging desperation. I would play my violin to try to distract myself, fill the void a bit. It worked for the most part, sometimes it just aggravated me further.

Sometimes I felt I would enter theater a prince and leave a pauper; my royal mantle stripped from me the moment I left the stage. I would return home to another round of lessons, another afternoon party in someone's ostentatious garden, another day at a drab office. Normally I relished the opportunity to be that different person on the stage each night, now I was dreading going back to the mundane. It all kept my mind off university and taking the exam and all the implications and threats and expectations all of this meant. Then again I did always do better on something when I wasn't dwelling on it.

Finally I had another thing to distract me, a grand item that was finally complete; my red dress was finished at last. The tailor apologized profusely for the delay; June and July are popular months for weddings, business was maddeningly busy. I told him I understood his plight, in fact I nearly forgot this was coming amidst the rest of the din. He showed me the completed dress on the form and oh it was breathtaking. Every ruffle, every hem, every ounce of rich burgundy fabric. I couldn't wait to try it on. He reiterated that I should have my lady friend come in so it could be fitted properly, I told him I would remember this. I paid the final amount, a sizable chunk but it was worth it. He boxed up the dress impeccably and handed it to me with a handshake, I couldn't thank him enough.

I hired a carriage to take me home, giving the driver a bit extra to forget I was there. It was a Wednesday, I went to rehearsal then rushed home so I could properly try on this beauty. A part of my stayed realistic; what if it really did not fit, what if I looked like a harlequin in this thing? I would make the adjustments then, I would find ways to cinch it and pad, I would make this work for me.

I immediately stripped when I returned home, reminding myself I would still need to get a petticoat, perhaps a corset though tying it myself would be impossible. I gently put the garment over me, feeling my arms fit perfectly into the sleeves. It was a bit loose around my waist and a bit tighter around the shoulders, but it was so soft. I managed to fasten the back hooks with a bit of awkward craning and it fell perfectly on my form. I looked in the mirror and saw this beautiful figure; fair skin, fiery hair, and a gown of elegant perfection. I wanted to weep in pure joy.

I put my hair up in a ponytail, teasing out the crown a bit. I powered my face, adding a bit of kohl to my eyes and biting my lips. The illusion was complete; I only saw a beautiful woman in front of me, a fair maiden with striking features. I practiced a few curtsies in front of the mirror. This was a proper lady of society; she didn't burden herself with boring work, she didn't stain her pretty hands with ink, she only needed education to make her even wittier. Her life was social engagements and fashion and making her husband a happy man. How easy her life was, how much easier was it to stay pretty and wear the latest fashions and keep abreast of the latest gossip.

I did a few dance steps, remembering the arm position of someone being lead. If only I had a handsome man as my dancing partner. Perhaps I could find one who would compliment my lovely gown and how soft my hand was, who would dance with me into the morning hours. I walked around my apartment, sitting down and remembering to cross my legs. I added some sherry in a nice glass to convince myself I was having a few sips at a party; lightly laughing at a few phantom jokes and complimenting invisible suitors on their business success. A proper lady shouldn't let herself drink too much, but this girl was letting loose tonight.

It took a few more glasses for the lady to lift her skirt and reveal her secret; she had a bit extra. I was shocked yet intrigued upon this discovery. I was allowed to touch her secret, to caress it, to pleasure her and hear her gently moan; handkerchief in hand of course, it would be a tragedy to mar such a pretty dress. This fantasy was fun, but oh how I wanted to get fucked hard in this dress. I wanted to get bent over and spanked like a naughty little girl, hand my hands held behind my back and my skirt lifted up as I was defiled by some powerful brute.

I was sober enough to know it was best I didn't pass out in this dress lest the bigger secret be discovered by whoever happened to peek through the keyhole. I removed the dress, going back to being the studious boy I was…no, going back to being the handsome prince. I liked that a bit better. Of course royalty could afford some naughty indulgences, perhaps Shakespeare intended for Hamlet to have a fondness for pretty dresses. I put the dress back in its box most carefully and concealed it at the back of my wardrobe. Secrets were so much fun.

After a few hard days of work or studying or after a particularly intense night at the theater, I would come home and put on my dress and admire my beauty in the mirror. Eventually I did acquire a petticoat, though I had little desire for the corset. I had little desire to stuff anything either; I preferred seeing this work of art on my natural form and not try to enhance something that wasn't there. I wanted to wear this out so badly, though even wearing this in my apartment carried risks. Who knew when someone might show up for an unexpected visit or some family member decided to search through my things to see if I was up to no good. The danger itself was another thing to occupy my mind and keep me distracted from the looming specter of the entrance exam.

Jacob and I were making plans for our second trip to Oxford. Jacob and Mr. Finley would accompany me to Oxford on that Wednesday. The written portion would be on Thursday, I would go before the panel for the oral portion on Friday. I would probably get raging drunk after then and ride home on Saturday with a lovely hangover.

It was about a week before the exam when I decided now was a good time to play with the markets a bit. I had been listening and doing research all summer. May as well start now in case I fell on my arse in front of that panel of learned men. I put some money aside into a few stocks; shipbuilding and granaries were apparently the safe bets. I put in only a little bit, maybe 10 cheap shares from a few blokes in coffeehouses I tended to pass through. As tempted as I was to ask Jacob's advice on this new venture, this was another source of potential income I did not want anyone in the family knowing about. I paid attention to the numbers, it was another nice distraction in itself; a distraction with some potential profit, not to mention the proverbial safety net. I was direly in need of one.

Of course if I failed this exam, Cambridge was still an option. Yes, I would truly be confident enough to go through this whole nonsense with another school if I fucked up my first chance. If I didn't get into university, removing myself from the family's burden was the better option. I didn't want to know what Matthew had in store for me if school wasn't happening for me. The thought used to thrill me, but now it made my skin crawl. I needed to plan in that event, though the fact I was doing so now scared the hell out of me. We had just a few days until I left. I had been studying and studying, practicing ever question over and over. These were flying lessons, and now I as looking over a precipice.

The thought crossed my mind during a few dark nights that perhaps I should choke down a bottle of laudanum in that event. What the hell did I have to look forward to if I didn't make this next step? What the hell did I have to look forward to if I did? I was in the frame of mind to wave off the very thought as utter silliness. Oxford was indeed a nice place, I was sure Cambridge was just as lovely. The life of a vagabond was sounding a bit romantic as well. Even living off the streets could be better than where I was now; I was resourceful enough to make my life a good one. There were always options. I wasn't a coward; I wasn't Reginald Kirkney.

The Sunday performance before I left for Oxford was a sold out show. There had been a few small, glowing reviews; not in the Times but in other places. All of them glorified my very existence on that stage. It was turning out to be a rather successful run, then again we were but midway through the season. Maybe if I botched that exam completely I wouldn't have to count down the days until leaving this theater and these fine fellows. Another silly thought I tried to brush off like a persistent gnat.

Colin actually got George to play Hamlet for those nights I would be gone, another backstage crewman would be playing Rosencrantz. I knew the part was in good hands, I trusted George to do a bang-up job yet not hound the stage to the point where he was more remembered. He actually told me as such: "I'll just keep your spot warm for you," he said with a smirk. I put a bit more into my performance that night; I wanted to charm the knickers off all of them, have them missing me and begging to know when I would be back. I felt like I was really leaving them, though I had to remind myself it was only for a few nights. It was just business; nothing big, nothing that never pulled away any other members of our company.

I couldn't help but think that I was enjoying their company before walking to my execution. A silly thought of course.


	35. Part 35

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 35**

I was a prince going into battle; my carriage my surreptitious entrance into the city walls. I had but two advisors sitting next to me, one regularly informing me of battle strategy, the other giving me frequent encouragement that this campaign could be won. I remained calm and resolute, reviewing the maneuvers in my head though my moral support frequently encouraged me to relax.

"Burning yourself out would be a bad idea," he said. "Besides, you know he does better when he is more relaxed, don't you Mr. Finley."

"Indeed that is true, but he still needs to be ready," my tactician replied.

"I will be most ready for this, though I shall treat this as more of an art than an act of brute force," I replied.

"Even I would agree that to be a wise idea," the tactician said, Finley was his name.

"Relax Grell, just show your talents," said my advisor Jacob. "Charm the knickers off all of them."

As last we were through the gates and approaching the battleground. Oxford was quiet, though this city has no idea what just wheeled in. Still this had to be a gentleman's war, a quiet one, one that no one but its principals would know occurred.

Apparently the rules of engagement had been decided between the negotiating parties. Officially the formal name of the territory I would be claiming was Chamberlain College; a center for all the manner of academia that would give me a strong education in the arts and languages as well as the scientific tools I would need for the anticipated future. My advisors thought I might especially appreciate its strong musical tradition, Jacob said he also heard around that theater was rather popular in this territory as well. I trusted the diplomats on their assessment of the best territory to claim. My part was just to lay siege and plant my flag.

We reached the location of our encampment; a cozy inn with large rooms. The innkeeper was most polite to this company, though I was becoming annoyed with how my advisor engaged in frivolous conversation with some of the locals when we had a war to fight. This was a reminder to me that I couldn't go into battle with a heavy mind; I should enjoy some of the frivolities as well to keep my focus forward.

Mr. Finley and I spent the better part of the night going over strategy. I was answering every scenario with snap judgment, he was most encouraging. He had me write out a few problems, checking my mapping technique and drilling me on my battle of the written word. My sword would be my pen, my might my words, and I would slay all who stood before me and leave them with looks of awe. We worked into the evening, Jacob pulling me away for supper at one point though I did not eat heartily. My stomach protested every morsel. I steered clear of drink save for nursing a half-pint through my practice and having a small glass of wine for a nightcap.

Sleep didn't come easily. The first battle was tomorrow morning, all was peaceful now but that would all be a memory the moment I entered that hall. I did rise at sun-up relatively rested and refreshed. I donned my suit, readied my pen case, and boarded the carriage for the tall stone spires of the battleground. I greeted my robed hosts, though I had to think on them as my enemies; the ones I had to sway. Perhaps this wasn't as much a war as an act of diplomacy, though I couldn't allow my mind to get too far out of my purpose. No, this was a war. I was rushing their battlements with words on paper, they were the ones who had to give.

I was shown into a small room, a single desk before me. I sat down, got out my quills, knife, and ink, and prepared myself for the coming challenge. A gentleman read me the rules of engagement before putting in front of me a thick stack of papers and leaving the room. I quieted my mind and opened the first page, meeting the challenge head on. My adversary lay before me and I was determined to slay it with great art.

This opponent was challenging, though I was ripping through its pages. I would get the best of this foe, I answered every question with every ounce of my skill. Before I knew it I was at the last few pages. The foe returned in vigor, growing more and more complicated though I would not yield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him who first cries "Hold! enough!"

I answered the final question on the page. There were no more pages, there were no more questions. I had finished. I went over a few last questions to make sure I had my figures right. I didn't want to revisit this nightmare, but I had to make sure my opponent was indeed dead. Soon after the gentleman returned and collected my test, biding me farewell for the evening. One opponent was dead, it was now up to these men to rule if it could remain so. Tomorrow I had another monster to slay, this one requiring my wits and diction instead of just a pen and my mind.

In the meantime I returned to the encampment, spoke briefly of the battle whilst refraining from boasting. Jacob arranged a lovely dinner, I tried to enjoy it but my mind was nagging at me to prepare for the final row. Later on Mr. Finley and I settled into some practice sparring, his words were rather harsh sometimes to the point where Jacob asked him to ease up. I welcomed every criticism and every verbal slap; my opponents wouldn't take mercy on me, my trainer should prepare me for everything. We worked late into the night before the hour dictated we get some rest.

I was even more restless this evening; this was the night of the final task. This was the occasion where Caesar's ghost visited Brutus, foretelling his doom at Philippi. Perhaps the spectral form of Reginald Kirkney would descend upon me, tell me all my efforts were for naught. I prevented him form having a future, why should my fate be any different? Only he decided not to have a future, only his future was cursed already, how was mine any different? Idiotic thoughts that would only strike fear into my heart. I had to be resolute, nothing would happen good or ill until I passed these challenges. I slept heartily until daybreak with this thought in mind.

I rose and put on my armor; a black suit with a stately air. Today I would not be squaring against faceless words on a page; my opponent would be a group of men who would volley difficult questions against me. I was ready this time, I was ready to meet their advance blow by blow. Defeat was not an option; I would emerge from this victorious. I told myself this over and over in the carriage to the panel's chambers.

A staff member escorted me to the final battleground. I walked into a wide room covered in bookshelves. Five men sat in front of me in black suits and impeccable wigs; faces all in calm, dour expressions. Papers were spread over the table and they sat poised with quills in hand. These were my enemies and I had to defeat them with wit and intelligence; I had to defeat them in such a way so those stony looks would melt into pure awe.

It started with a few introductions; some of them represented the university itself, some were principals in Chamberlain College. I shook the hands of each one of them as they introduced themselves. I barely remembered their names, I would be defeating them anyway. It started with a pleasant interview; what were my interests? What were my aspirations? A few questions about personal philosophy, likely gauging me as an Anglican and a Briton in general.

Then it began; they threw at me a volley of questions. I stood firm, answering all of them pleasantly with great confidence. Their arrows related to history and Greek classics and government, a few mathematical equations thrown in. It felt as if I was batting all of these darts away with my sword and shield of intelligence. There were questions about the Bible, about monarchs, wars, I knew the answers to all of them.

And what did they ask of me after all this? After I recited Biblical passages and Socratic lines? They asked me to recite from "Hamlet." Shakespeare was usually rather underappreciated by such serious scholars, perhaps these men were a bit more well-rounded. They asked if I were familiar with Act 3, Scene 1, commonly known as "To be, or not to be." God Himself was smiling upon me, or perhaps the devil was getting cheeky. Oh yes I was certainly familiar with it, I told them.

I recited the lines as a scholar, though with a hint of dramatic passion. Normally I am wearing the mantle of a stricken youth, this time I was outside as an analytical observer though I still recited those lines with great art. I finished, my hands gently clasped. They looked over their notes and whispered amongst themselves.

"This ends the examination, Mr. Sutcliff," one of them, a Mr. Poole I believe, said. "We shall spend the next few hours reviewing your oral and written examinations and we shall have a decision rendered by 4 o'clock today."

I politely thanked them for their pains and took my leave. It was over, my trials were done. Perhaps the ending of a battle was much more satisfying; if you walked away you won. It wasn't so easy this time. I walked back to my carriage with the same stiff march I had used for the past two days, it didn't quite dawn on me yet that the trials were done, that perhaps I could truly relax. No, I stayed at an uneasy readiness; defensive positions rather than offense but I couldn't lose my guard entirely.

Jacob had a hearty lunch ready for my return. He asked me the usual questions; how did it go, how difficult was the panel, rubbish of that sort. After a while he took the hint that I really wasn't in much of a mood to talk. I was running on pure nerves at this point; I was mentally, physically, and spiritually drained. The trials were over, but I still had the final verdict hanging over me like a looming specter. I didn't want to think on it too much, I did my absolute best. If I ultimately failed, I at least knew I failed fighting to the last.

My mind was put slightly at ease by the fact I had a good amount of money saved up in my accounts, especially that account in Holborne my brothers weren't supposed to know about. I estimated I had enough for several months worth of living expenses under moderate means. It would give me plenty of time to find suitable jobs to cushion the pile a bit. If I failed, if I were cast out or threatened with military school again, I did have a means of escape. I had yet to check on the prices of the stocks I had purchased, perhaps that would create some additional means. These thoughts allowed me to relax slightly.

Perhaps all was not lost if I failed this ordeal. I had to remind myself over and over again there were always other options besides anything extreme. I doubted failing this exam would mean I was cast from the family or subject to a fate worse than death. Perhaps I was just being over dramatic, though as always I could never be too cautious.

I managed to relax a bit, even to the point where I looked up at the clock and only now noticed it was 3 o'clock. This realization just made the seconds to the hour all the slower. At half past I boarded the carriage back for the school, Jacob and Mr. Finley by my side. Jacob pointed out the building for Chamberlain College behind a few spires, talking about how I would wow them in the classroom and summon pure awe on the fields. I wanted to kick him to get him to shut the hell up, the last thing I needed was for a jinx to be put upon this whole thing. Instead I stayed still and tried to relax. Perhaps it was better to keep positive thoughts to summon positive outcomes.

The carriage returned to the building I was just in, I tried to keep in pace next to Jacob and not sprint toward my destination. We went in and waited for a few minutes, then their member of staff summoned me back in. Mr. Finley gave me a handshake for good measure, Jacob merely threw me a wink and a nod; a gesture that somewhat relaxed me. I went in, seeing the men from the panel sitting at their desk.

"Come in, Mr. Sutcliff," Mr. Poole said.

I walked before them, feeling like a hero about to be lauded or a condemned man about to get the sack over the head. Their methods of delivering both expectations would be the exact same.

"Mr. Sutcliff we have given extensive review to your written examination from yesterday as well as the presentation you made to us this morning," Mr. Poole said. "As well as considering your letters of recommendation and your academic and professional history. In consideration of these materials as well as your character, the decision by this panel was unanimous."

My feet felt as if they would melt into the floor. I was numb, merely a fog reacting to the sounds around me.

"You have been accepted as a student of Chamberlain College."

I stood frozen, my body tingled. Did I just hear this? I gave a clearing laugh, this was all real. I gave my overwhelming thanks to the members of the panel, shaking their hands and receiving hearty welcome. I was still numb, the reality of the announcement took its time settling in but was becoming clearer and clearer.

This was the victor shaking hands with the conquered. Victory was not measured in bodies but in well wishes. I still made my march all the same, the conquered congratulating me for my triumph. I leaned into the hallway and summoned Jacob. He went before the panel and I told him the good news. His face lit up, he loosely embraced me and gave me a strong handshake. We left the room in good tidings, informing Mr. Finley of our success. There was much rejoicing, handshakes, laughter, all around good spirits.

What followed was a few visits to other offices to work out the details. We told them I had a few bits of business to clear up in London within the month. My formal matriculation ceremony would take place on the 27th of August, then my academic career at Oxford would truly begin. The timing couldn't have been more perfect: "Hamlet" was ending on Sunday the 24th. I couldn't think of a better going away party. I would need to tell Colin about this, I would need to get ready to leave London. This whole day was a bit overwhelming. No matter, I would rather work out these details in victory than other details in defeat.

We returned to the inn, I insisted on getting an hour or so alone to rest. I was having a hard time comprehending the full reality of my situation. I was going to be a student again, this time a true university man. I doubted the true meaning of that would fully dawn on me. I was merely happy to fulfill this duty; shove it in Matthew's face that I wasn't a fuck-up. This fuck-up was just accepted to Oxford, shove that up your fat arse; though this was what he wanted all along. He wanted me to make myself useful somehow.

Jacob and I hit the pubs hard that night. I endeavored not to get too ridiculous; the last thing I needed was to make a scene in Oxford right after I was accepted to the university. A measure of caution wasn't going to stop me from getting nice and pissed. This was my reward for a job well done, this was what I needed after months of burying myself under books and notes.

Jacob was paying the tab and we kept to plenty of higher class places drinking premium quality liquor. We were both casting our sheets to the wind when we decided it would be best to move this to our room. Jacob bought this glorious bottle of scotch with an orange essence. There were several toasts to my future, to my time as a student, to each of our successes, to low-cut dresses, to the invention of booze. I believe Jacob even toasted to men in tight trousers with a wink and a nod to me. I recall embracing him warmly after this then summarily sliding to the floor in a fit of giggles.

I recall waking at the sun's first stinging rays lying on the couch in the room. I managed to turn over my pounding head to see Jacob on the bed out cold. He was still breathing; that was a good development. Eventually he got up, both of us gave each other sympathetic looks whilst holding our heads. We recovered enough to take a light breakfast and collect our things.

We eventually called on Mr. Finley, who approached us a bit cautiously. I was waiting for him to say we disturbed him, but a servant doesn't challenge his masters. He kept his wrinkled trap shut, though he looked rather unamused. I couldn't care less what he thought. After a while Jacob and I were well enough for the ride back and our company boarded the carriage. It felt a little surreal leaving Oxford; I was leaving this place I would call my home in about a month. Now I was traveling back to a place I would be leaving. I tried not to think on this too much.

The ride back was infinitely more relaxed than the ride to. Mr. Finley eventually let down his hackles, I know I was in a spirited mood. All the trials were over, all that was left was celebration. We drew closer to London by sunset. The sky was dark and the lights of the city greeted us from the horizon. I was returning to London, though this time it would be a temporary return.

I had just another month left in this beautiful city before embarking on the next stage of my journey. It was a melancholy prospect; a happy one I insisted to myself but that would take much convincing. Instead I imagined my caravan entering the capital city in triumph. The enemy had been slain, new territory was conquered, we were returning as heroes. I held this thought in my mind when returning to my apartment alone. I was returning to my quarters a victor alive to see another day; taking his rest after so many trials and tribulations. I wasn't returning as a temporary visitor to this dwelling.

Sunday I returned to the theater, I needed to get back onstage after this ordeal. I needed to savor every remaining second on that stage; this was a thought I tried to quell though I had to allow it. I was welcomed warmly from my "business trip," especially by Colin. This pressed the thought a little harder that I should tell him I had little time in his company. I donned my costume and George told me so many people apparently were asking about me during the few nights I was off. I said I owed him a pint for holding my role.

Getting back on that stage was like an exorcising all of the demons of worry that crept into me for the past few months. My first appearance onstage was greeted by loud applause I soaked right up; they really did miss me. I was exuberant that show; sitting into Hamlet's melancholy yet not allowing myself to sink in. I shoved out all my dark thoughts, instead playing more the troubled youth than playing a veiled version of my gloomy self. The audience still applauded, they still gasped, they still went dead silent for my death, and they still delivered thunderous applause for curtain call.

We left the stage in our usual revelry, though I was doing my best to keep the appearance of joy. I had to tell Colin, my fellows would need to learn of this too but he was the one I had to tell first. I had been dreading this moment for the past few months, but now I could deliver firm news in happiness. I thought about asking for a meeting another day or waiting until next Wednesday. No, this had to happen now. I wouldn't be able to bear it another day.

I hung around a bit and did some chatting, waiting for most of the company to depart. Finally I approached Colin, asking for a private word. He cordially obliged, but with a slight look of concern. We went into the side office and he closed the door. I almost wish I had rehearsed this speech, though it was best if it came naturally.

"I said I had to leave this week on business," I started. "There was actually more to it than that. In truth I spent the past three days in Oxford taking the entrance exams."

Colin's eyes widened.

"I have been accepted," I said.

Colin laughed then locked me into a tight embrace.

"That's wonderful, my boy!" he exuded. "A thousand congratulations, Richard!"

"Thank you," I replied, the warmth of his reaction was wonderful though there was more.

I pulled back a bit.

"My entrance ceremony is in late August, right after 'Hamlet' ends," I said.

Colin looked at me, reading my hesitance well.

"This means you will be leaving us," he said with an understanding nod, a hand still firmly on my shoulder.

I nodded. He only smiled and squeezed my shoulder.

"Richard we will miss you greatly, but you will be embarking on a grand journey toward great success, an opportunity few of us have had," he said. "This will be yours, son. This is a great triumph. Yes there is a hint of sadness but such is the way with all new beginnings. But this doesn't have to be a permanent goodbye; you will always have a home here. Whether you choose to come back to us during holiday or go off on adventures, we will always be here for you, lad."

I stared at him, my heart pounding and my throat tightening. I embraced him hard, feeling him return it with force and a little laugh.

"Thank you," I said, my voice cracking. "Thank you for your kindness, Colin."

"We're all family here, Rich," he said.

I almost wanted to correct him on the name, tell him in that moment of warmth who I really was. I held my tongue. That was a conversation for another time, though perhaps that was something he didn't need to know. No, this was my other life and my name was Richard Morris here.

We gradually pulled back with clearing laughs.

"What college will you be attending?" he asked.

"Chamberlain," I said.

He cocked his head and smiled wider.

"That's the perfect place for you," Colin said. "You know about the Chamberlain Society right?"

"Alas I don't believe I've heard of them."

"Truly? I thought you would have heard of them, or rather I thought that's what drew you there?"

Of course I didn't hear of them, I barely researched my choice of school let alone the specific college.

"Well then let me be the first," he continued. "The Chamberlain Society is a rather large group of dramatists. More of an informal group, but they put on a few plays each semester. You see the college is named after one of the Lords Chamberlain for some patronage or something. Of course you know about the Lord Chamberlain's Men."

I nodded in full understanding. The Lord Chamberlain's Men was the company Shakespeare himself wrote for. It was named for the patronage of Baron Hunsdon, the Lord Chamberlain under Elizabeth. Dear God why did I never think of the connection?

"Now I know the school wasn't named for Baron Hunsdon himself, but naturally they had to have their own company in his honor," Colin continued. "They are a most talented group of performers, but you'll show them a thing or two."

I gave a merry laugh. What a wonderful development. Didn't Jacob mention something about this school having a fondness for drama? My folly for not researching better or even paying attention. Had I been so careless with such an important matter? Only now did I realize this.

I asked Colin to keep this matter between the two of us for now, he gave me his word. We had a final embrace, I thanked him heartily for all he had done for me; he reiterated his support. I left that theater with a warmth in my heart. I truly had a friend with Colin, this was one reality I had to trust in. I didn't want to challenge this, I just wanted to appreciate his kindness.

Jacob boarded the carriage on Monday greeting me as "Oxford's newest genius scholar." Naturally he had to announce the glad tidings to everyone in the office. I normally hated being lead out in front of everyone here like a prize turkey. After my conversation with Colin, however, I was now soaking in all the accolades. This wasn't just an achievement that saved my arse from Matthew; this was truly a monumental feat.

Jacob pulled me aside in his office during lunch for a few post-success updates. Speaking of Baron Bugger, Jacob told me he sent a letter to our dearest brother with the happy announcement. My tutoring would continue for the next few weeks to get me into a collegiate mindset leading up to my formal entrance. The schedule was significantly pared back; just Saturday and Sunday afternoons, though negotiable considering social schedule I was now allowed to have. Somehow I was actually looking forward to going to a few events.

He then reminded me of Earl Phantomhive's dinner party just tomorrow night. We received the invitation a few weeks back, but I forgot about it amidst this exam nonsense. It was a pleasant reminder, this would be the first formal party of his I attended since that riotous New Year's fete. I was most looking forward to spending time with the charming git and his delightfully odd and violent friends. Even another invasion would be a welcome change from the ordinary.

After work on Tuesday, I pulled out a nice blue party suit with plenty of ruffles for the occasion. I was so tired of drab business suits; seeing and wearing them. Jacob and I then went to the earl's townhouse. Earl Bram shook my hand and patted me on the back as soon as he saw me, hoisting a plethora of congratulations upon me. I was pleased to see Countess Jeanne beside him, she was also most generous with her well-wishes. I always found her a lovely hostess, especially after Bram once assured me he spoke to her about the matter with little Armand. In the few events I saw her, she never mentioned it; she was always most gracious with me and carried on a pleasant conversation.

I learned that Armand was already en route for school; not King's Crest curiously enough, a new school in the Northwest. He said this one was a bit more suited for him, I could guess the many reasons as to why. I did jokingly ask the earl who would be the unexpected guest of the evening. He looked to the ceiling for a moment in contemplation, I tried not to laugh.

"I was expecting angry Irishmen, but heard nothing further," he said. "We might get some Hessians, but they are rather in demand. If we do get any special guests, I make sure you get the chance to greet them."

He patted me on the shoulder and winked. I gave a dirty chuckle and went about my business.

The party was a bit low key and contained more of a respectable noble crowd, fewer motley dressed individuals. Alas I really wasn't seeing any of the "Evil Nobles" save for Jacob naturally, perhaps that was for the best. I was enjoying this quiet evening of hobnobbing, it was rather relaxed and jovial compared to the past few weeks.

After a few quiet hours, I did see Arthur floating through the crowd. I did avert my gaze and hope he didn't notice me, I wasn't exactly in the mood for him now. Alas no such luck; he nodded in my direction and walked right for me. Oh well, he wasn't a bad chap; his eccentricity was a bit entertaining on some morbid level.

"The party is abuzz with word of your great triumph," Arthur said, a wide smile on his face. "Congratulations are in order."

We shook hands and I thanked him for the word. He asked me a few questions about Oxford and I obliged. This lead to a pleasantly mundane conversation, my urge to be rid of him faded with his continued wit. We spoke for a few minutes until a voice behind us calling "Artie" commanded his attention. Arthur looked back nodding in recognition.

"John," he called, raising is hand.

I made eye contact with a tall, rather imposing man in a black suit; silver hair hung past his shoulders and a single long braid rested on his chest. He too wore a pair of rectangular spectacles, though his were a bit ornate. The man's appearance reminded me of a brief description I heard at the party from hell.

"I recall you mentioning a colleague," I said.

"Yes, this is indeed he," Arthur replied.

"You louts gossiping about me, are you," John said with a little smirk.

His speech was refined though I did catch a Yorkshire lilt. I did notice how he was adjusting his trousers, a bit of an impolite gesture though this was a more informal gathering.

"Naturally, you deserve a bit of abuse for leaving me with some dour characters," Arthur said.

"Apologies for needing the hole," John muttered. "Didn't want to embarrass myself any more than you were doing already with those boors. Where the hell does this earl find these guys?"

I think I liked this fellow already.

"He's a great collector of personages," I said.

"Indeed, he does like his guests with a hint of odd," Arthur replied with a chuckle.

"It don't get any odder than us," John said, leaning a bit closer into my face than I liked and cackling.

I chuckled merrily along, I believe I met the life of the party.

"Mr. Sutcliff, this is John Pennington, our company's leading man in Sheffield," Arthur said, motioning toward his colleague. "Mr. Pennington, this is Mr. Grell Sutcliff."

Mr. Pennington put out his hand, which I took politely. He shook my hand, then pulled me in a bit closer to him.

"Oh this is the famous Mr. Sutcliff," Mr. Pennington said.

"My reputation proceeds me, all ill I suppose," I said.

A filthy belly laugh sounded from Mr. Pennington. He then quieted and pout up a finger with a look of contemplation.

"Junior Associate of Sutcliff Agriculture, Ltd, recently accepted to…Oxford?" he said.

"Correct," I replied.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow and looked at him with a smirk.

"See Art, my memory's not all that bad," he said, giving his colleague a pointed look whist adjusting his spectacles with a gloved hand. "I've merely heard great things about your success. Congratulations are in order. The lad is smart, but is he entertaining?"

He leaned right in my face, his breath stunk to the heavens.

"Tell me a good joke," he whispered.

That's right, he was a collector of jokes apparently. This fellow was somewhat off-putting, though I had to admit I was amused. I leaned in his ear and told him his bloody joke; a ghastly one, one so riddled with descriptions of sexual bodily functions I only saved it for certain occasions. He was chuckling all through the telling, I could see his shoulders shaking and his hand positioned over his mouth. I gave him the punch line, he chuckled heartily, throwing his head back. Mr. Pennington then patted my back.

"Oh that was good," he said between chuckles. "You are a droll one."

"Why thank you," I said, sipping my glass of claret with a smile. "Now I do hope your enjoying your time in London. I understand you're here for a company visit?"

"Indeed," Mr. Pennington said, releasing my shoulder and letting out a lingering chortle. "Some rather complicated business at the moment, I'll spare you the particulars…for now."

"Yes it's all rather hush-hush at present but we're working on something glorious," Arthur said.

I didn't really give a damn what was going on, best to leave it alone. This sounded like one great big inside joke anyway. Bloody hell these odd plunkers were two peas in a pod.

"Then I wish you well on your success," I said tipping my glass. "How long have you two been colleagues."

"A rather long time," Arthur said.

"Quite," Mr. Pennington replied with a smirk.

"You know how we met? Now this is bloody typical," Arthur said. "We were seated together at a meeting. Why?"

"Because the list was alphabetized and we fell right next to each other," Mr. Pennington groaned, rolling his eyes.

Through his fringe I swore I saw bright green irises, the same color I saw for but a moment on Mr. Arthur the first time we met. The sight made my skin crawl. I didn't care to look for that double-iris; a figment of my drunken imagination. So what, this bastard had vibrant green eyes; I'm sure such a color is not that rare. I wasn't interested in looking any further, I didn't want to command more attention than I was graced with already.

"Anyway, I'm off duty and I want a bloody drink," Mr. Pennington said, nodding in my direction. "A pleasure, Mr. Sutcliff."

He nodded at me, another eerie smirk coming over his face. I nodded in response.

"A pleasure, Mr. Pennington," I replied politely.

Arthur nodded in my direction, his colleague walked away and he was practically tripping himself to follow behind. I stayed still for a moment, watching them walk into the crowd. I found way they glanced at each other a bit off-putting; like they were communicating some sort of knowing right after speaking to me. I found that rather rude. I let them get away a few paces, then snuck through the crowd to get a bit closer to earshot of any conversation. I deflected a few greetings and congratulations and casually proceeded in their direction; keeping an eye on the buggers as they scurried off. Thankfully I was but a meter from them separated by a few other guests when they started talking with seeming ignorance as to my position.

"And how did you learn those details?" Arthur said in a politely low tone. "You just got here ten minutes ago and you've been a bit anti-social."

"Oh come now, I haven't been that much of a clod," Mr. Pennington said. "And yes, Arthur, I did indeed read his record."

Arthur giggled like a silly boy.

"Was it worth your time?"

Pennington gave him a look, then nodded.

"I'll hand it to you, he's promising," he replied. "But you do know how much of a gamble chavs like him are."

"I'm willing to place a few bets. I'm growing tired of all the soldiers and solicitors the others have been throwing around."

Mr. Pennington snickered.

"A daring bastard as always, Arthur; such an instigator you are. I've always admired that about you."

"Why thank you, sir."

"Now let's see if he continues to entertain us."

"Just wait until next year, he won't disappoint."

"Ah ah ah, classified information, sensitive ears."

John turned his head slightly, I saw the corner of a bright green eye shifting in my general direction. I casually stopped to sip my drink, thankfully I heard my name called by someone; a man I had met at a few previous parties with his wife. I got into a conversation with them, looking over and finding both those creepy fucks gone from sight.

* * *

**Author's Notes**  
-Chamberlain College is my creation. I was researching Oxford colleges and was torn between putting Grell in Trinity or Magdalen and realizing I know nothing about either of them. Then I learned a lot of authors will make up their own colleges, so that's what I did.

-I pretty much made up the timeline for the final outcome of the acceptance. I barely learned about the entrance exams at that time let alone how students found out they were accepted. If someone knows more about this, then let me know. Otherwise one can take a lot of liberties in the Kuroverse.

-Take a huge guess as to whom John Pennington is. After the whole internal debate I went through with Arthur and he Campania chapters and working on this plotline a bit more in This Immortal Coil, I decided that the Campania Arc never happened in this timeline. So while Arthur isn't a certain character, the door was wide open for said character to make an appearance. John Pennington is purely my headcanon name for him.


	36. Part 36

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Warning: Contains heavy talk about a past-tense suicide. A heads up if that bothers anyone.

**Part 36**

I didn't see those two nutters for the rest of the evening, it was their fortune and mine as well. If I saw either of them I would likely introduce a fist to one of their smirking faces, let them see how "entertaining" I was. I went about the party as usual, though their words seared into the back of my mind. Rambling rubbish by a couple of madmen, or that was my initial thought. I told myself over and over it wasn't worth any of my concern, though I was hardly reassured. In fact I grew somewhat nervous as the night continued.

I mulled over every word trying to decipher what the hell they were talking about and coming up with so many scenarios that made my skin crawl. Perhaps it was a form of social insult, or perhaps social praise. Likely they were discussing business plans that involved me somehow…or they were plotting to kidnap me or even better. My imagination wrote so many sordid tales behind those few exchanges.

By the end of the evening I decided I would tell Jacob about this encounter. I was learning to trust Jacob a little more, this would be an appropriate exercise or perhaps test of that trust. Judging by the encounter at the end of the New Year's party, Jacob was likely familiar with Arthur if they weren't already friends or associates. If this was a potential threat to my person he would want to know, even if someone were merely being that rude in my direction he would be interested in that as well.

I tried acting as calm as could be when we boarded the carriage, this would only be a conversation comparing societal notes. Once the carriage pulled off however, Jacob was giving me a concerned look.

"See any ghosts in the townhouse? You have a rather telltale pallor," Jacob said.

If my fear was that obvious, why hide it?

"I had a rather interesting encounter with a few of the earl's associates," I said.

Jacob's expression stiffened, though he remained quiet; likely waiting for me to elaborate.

"Jacob what do you know about Arthur Pettengill?" I asked.

Jacob paused for a moment in contemplation, his stiff expression remaining.

"He is a close personal friend of the earl," he carefully answered. "I personally haven't spoken to him all that much aside from shared pleasantries, I believe that ill-fated evening was my first opportunity to spend all that much time with him. I believe he works in finance, or something related to audits and collections, of course everyone's professions in that group are rather hushed up. Earl Bram has described him as a jack of all trades sort, which likely means mercenary."

"I heard at the party that he was in collections," I said, trying to keep my voice relaxed. "After the party, though, after those traitors were dispatched, I caught a glimpse of him in the room wielding an axe. I left before I could see what came next."

Jacob grimaced slightly, giving a somewhat understanding nod.

"As I said, there are things about Earl Bram's friends that are better left unspoken," Jacob said.

"Are you familiar with a man named John Pennington?" I asked.

Jacob paused for another moment then shook his head.

"Can't say I recall that name," he said. "Now what exactly happened tonight? I assume it involves Mr. Pettengill and this Mr. Pennington you speak of."

"Indeed it does," I sighed, getting my story together. "Mr. Pennington as it turns out is a colleague of Mr. Pettengill in whatever company they work for, apparently he's down from Yorkshire but that's irrelevant. Arthur comes right up to me, which he has been fond of doing for the past few Phantomhive parties. It's all innocent chatting, Mr. Pennington comes up and it's all the same. He's proper in speech, rough on manners, heavy on eccentric charm. They walk away looking back at me with rather knowing expressions. I decided to hang behind them, then I hear them talking about 'reading my record' and how much promise I have, or rather how I'm a gamble for something according to Mr. Pennington. Arthur starts talking about how he enjoys the gambles, says something about dealing with so many 'soldiers and solicitors.' Then they start talking about how much more entertaining I'll be next year."

Jacob's expression remained stony, though his brows were firmly furrowed.

"Do you think they knew you were behind them?" he asked.

"Mr. Pennington cautioned his colleague against saying 'classified information' in front of sensitive ears and cast half an eye right on me," I said. "I just got the hell away from them, never saw them again for the rest of the party."

Jacob paused again, pondering his fingernails with a curious look.

"Well that is certainly eerie," he said.

"I am fully aware of the caliber of men we are dealing with, hence my fear," I said.

"A rightful concern," he said nodding. "However only an idiot would talk so openly of fell business. The earl would root out any such idiots before they were allowed in his presence, let alone that close to him. We can't be too careful, but it is likely there is a less ominous explanation for this. Perhaps this was a social slight to you, perhaps a comment on your age. Next year? Well you will be turning 19 next year and entering your second year at Oxford, perhaps they will consider you a bit more worthy of their graces."

It was a good explanation. He paused again and then raised a finger in some realization.

"You know what that likely was, I am certain this is the case," Jacob said with a tone of sudden confidence. "They're businessmen, executives likely; executives are always looking for fresh blood, especially if they can steal it from a superior company. They see you — a young upstart about to enter university with an impeccable reputation for productivity — and they see something they like. They see someone who can help their ramshackle company, thinking they could even compare to where you serve now or anywhere else you could be that's not them. They probably have some sort of file on you as a potential recruit, it's a common practice. But you're very green, hence why you are a gamble — unlike a more reliable candidate such as a crippled soldier in need of work or a solicitor in need of clients. Though next year you will be a bit riper, perhaps ripe enough for their purposes?"

I gave a breath of relief; that assessment made perfect sense. They were looking to recruit me into their business; naturally the earl would be friends with such presumptuous businessmen.

"That certainly sounds like the most plausible explanation," I said.

"Let this be a lesson; beware of smiling men with lofty promises," Jacob said. "Such businessmen would want to pluck a promising youth right out of a prosperous position, even right out of university and into a sinkhole."

"I shall heed that advice," I replied. "Though they certainly have done little to entice me anywhere."

"That makes them poor businessmen. Even an inept company president would know their approach was a liability. I wouldn't mind finding out what company they work for."

"But as you said business among the 'Evil Nobles' is rather hushed up."

"Indeed, that is why I understand your fears. Just be careful around them, I will keep an extra eye out too. If they start bothering you even further or if they do become a threat, say something to the earl; I too will speak as well if I see something troubling. Though as we know all too well the earl doesn't exactly keep the kindest company."

I nodded in profound agreement.

"I will certainly be careful," I said. "Thank you for your insight, Jacob."

"It's merely a mutual assistance," he said. "If I ever need any such insight on someone you know a bit better I will certainly speak with you as well."

"Certainly," I said, finally settling back into my seat.

I tried not to think on the matter for the rest of the night. Thankfully there were no nightmares, unlike the first time I met Mr. Pettengill. This issue was resolved, I would make sure to be more careful around Arthur and any one of his little friends.

I met with Jacob a few days later for another one of our lunch meetings. At the end he pressed an envelope into my palm; an envelope adorned with a rather elaborate gold printed design. It was unsealed, I opened it up to see a feather covered in blue wax. I looked at him curiously, he smirked a little.

"A colleague of mine named Lord Ellison is having a very exclusive, very private gathering late in the evening on Saturday," Jacob said, leaning in my face and practically whispering. "I am aware your play is that night, but I think this might provide some lovely post-show refreshment. When I say very private, I mean that. Do not breathe a word of this to anyone else or even show anyone the contents of this envelope."

Jacob gave this dirty smirk and a little nod. I merely smiled and nodded back. This was going to be a very improper gathering, perhaps even more so than any other lewd party I had ever been to. I pocketed the envelope with a wink.

"This secret is safe with me," I said with a wink. "You have my word."

This was rather clandestine. Just a few months ago the thought of Jacob giving me such an invitation would have immediately unearthed every single fear and suspicion I had about my brother. Now my curiosity was piqued and now I knew I would have to trust Jacob. Given my recent successes, he had no reason to destroy me and was more likely to reward me...perhaps show me a lesson though I endeavored not to look this gift horse in the mouth.

After Saturday's show, I went straight home and got on some nicer clothes. As was arranged, Simon picked me up around 9:30 and took me to Knightsbridge. He pulled up to this large townhouse and dropped me off right at the door where a uniformed doorman awaited. I merely took out my envelope and the doorman let me in straightaway. Perhaps this wasn't as exclusive a party as I expected, or perhaps the feather offered some further access.

I was escorted into a rather gaudily decorated parlor; gold leaf everywhere, feathers, lots of blue and purple. I walked right into a typical party; there were only men around, all in their nice suits and wigs sipping from glasses and chatting amongst themselves. I walked through a bit crestfallen. Why the hell was Jacob being so secretive about this party? Perhaps the real entertainment would come a bit later. I did get a glass and talked with a few of the other partygoers. It was all the usual conversational rubbish; business, women, houses, trips across Europe, hardly anything scandalous.

I was back at the bar for another drink when the butler approached me, asking to get a better look at my invitation. I handed him the envelope with the feather. He looked inside and gave this little nod.

"You do have access to a more exclusive section of the house where there is some richer refreshment," he whispered in my ear. "Shall I escort you?"

Oh this was intriguing. I politely accepted his request, he motioned for me to follow him and I did so. We went through some of the side hallways that were more and more unoccupied the further we walked. I was becoming slightly nervous, but I was sure the mystery would end soon. The butler stopped at a black door and put a key in the lock. He unlocked the door and motioned for me to enter. I followed him down a set of stairs lit by large lamps on the wall. He locked the door behind us, making me a bit more uneasy.

He escorted me down the stairs into this cellar area that was adorned with rugs and tapestries of some sort of Oriental styling. He took me down a hallway and another short set of stairs, then unlocking another door. It was now that I heard the usual laughter and chatter of a party, plus a few other noises that would be indecipherable to more innocent ears but telling to those in the know. The real party was behind this door. The butler escorted me through, then opened up a side door and produced a luscious green nightgown and a towel embroidered in brown and gold. He said there was a bath behind this door and said he would leave me alone to undress. I tried to keep from grinning right then; what magnificent debauchery awaited me behind that door.

The butler took his leave, locking the door behind me. I undressed to my shirt and britches to be careful then put on the robe. If I stepped though this door to see a collective of naked old hags and their husbands and their wrinkled saggy skin I would be rather cross. I opened the door and stepped through, closing it behind me, the smell of perfumes and minerals greeting me. I took a moment to close the door and was about to wait before looking up, then I realized I was hearing nothing but male voices.

I looked up and saw men; men in various states of undress from their shirts to completely bare. Some were wading in this large Roman-style bath. Some were locked in kisses, some were giving others massages, some were outright fondling each other's nude bodies right there, some were kissing as they walked into side rooms. I stood in awe for one moment, seeing a few of the gentlemen wave in my direction, some enticing me to come forward.

Jacob: dear, dear brother, you magnificent bastard you. This was one hell of a congratulations gift.

Running in the direction of the action would have looked boorish, not to mention falling down on the wet stones would have been rather unfortunate. I made my way over as gracefully as I could, greeting the gentlemen and making mental note of every wink and smile in my direction. I didn't recognize anyone thankfully, though it was a natural assumption everyone here was of some status.

I took some wine, got into a few conversations. A handsome gentleman with long black hair conversed with me about Michelangelo while removing my shirt and massaging my shoulders. He was an amazing kisser, though another debonair chap with hair like corn silk wanted to cut in for his own kiss. I said there was enough of my to go around. A minute later we were in one of the side rooms sampling each other's goods in a myriad lovely ways. Oh how I loved variety.

We returned to the party with kisses and small finger caresses before I set my sights on a gentleman with short brown hair and amazing muscles. He took a bit of wooing, though was agreeable to some exercise in tongues before we took turns in a more aggressive way. I intended to take a break after this, until this older chap told me he could give me a massage that would make me cry out to God. I was hardly a religious man, but I was certainly hailing the Lord after he got done with me.

By then I was walking on wobbling legs and went into another room, the main bar room, for some quieter refreshment. Nothing more was going on in there than a bit of kissing and some actual conversations. I actually met our host; his plum robe embroidered in gold was a bit hard to miss. A very charming molly, very intelligent; I wasn't too fond of his color scheme but that was my personal tastes.

I returned to the bathing area with drink in hand readying myself to enjoy the warm water a bit more. I casually scanned the group, the same scene as it was a moment ago with a couple new arrivals. I looked to one couch and caught sight of this beautiful dark, auburn hair. I believe I had my next target. I walked a bit closer to the back of the room where my prey sat in a couch clad in only a robe, a servant boy feeding him grapes like a king. Then I saw his face and froze, a year's worth of memories rushing back to me; a year's worth of anger.

I didn't know if I should sneak off or run up to him and break every bone in that pretty face of his; though I knew I had little actual reason to do that. He was absent from the group that bloodied me up, that didn't mean he wasn't involved. Here was Victor Shelly himself right in front of me; the man I had shared with Reg, the man I shared tears with over Reg's death, the man who could very well have betrayed me with the others. For the past year and a half I had tried to mentally prepare myself if I ever ran into one of these twats, but here was one right in front of me and I stood in a coward's freeze.

I thought to casually shift away from him, but alas his eyes set upon me. He took a second to look at me, then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He pushed away his manservant and walked right over to me, his lips formed my name. A part of me begged me to run off, but that would have been cowardice. Instead I stood there, my blood simmering and my muscles tightening. By his step I could tell he had more than a few drinks in him; it would mean I would have to beat him harder for him to feel it.

"Grell," he gasped.

"Victor," I replied politely, the back of my throat tight.

"Dearest Grell, you're all right," Victor said again, his tone one of pure awe.

"Does that make you happy?" I said, my tone a bit darker. "Or disappointed."

His shoulders slumped and his face took an expression of hurt.

"I know what you're thinking, I would be thinking the same if it were me who were so betrayed," he said.

"Would you now?"

He walked a bit closer to me, his hands outstretched. I smacked them away from me, his expression grew more pained.

"Bloody Judas with a smiling face," I hissed.

"Then string me up alongside him, Grell," Victor pleaded. "Beat me, burn me, such is what your enemies deserve but I swear to you I had no hand in that melee. Swear it upon my life I will, I could never have left you so."

"You laid with the dogs! How do I know you don't have their mange?"

"Grell please…"

He rook another step before me and I backhanded him across the face. He fell back, I could hear other guests stopping and gasping. Victor fell to his knees.

"Give me their punishment Grell," he said, his voice cracking. "I want to know how much pain you went through."

I hit him again, he turned the other cheek like a good Christian and I slapped him again. He then took my hand and kissed it. This wasn't enough for me, though this certainly would be enough for me in a bad way if this continued in such a public area. I grabbed his shoulder and lifted him to a stand. He acquiesced, tears running down his face. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into a side room, a few of the guests giggling as I dragged him away.

I went into the room and threw him down on the couch, closing the door then ripping off his robe. I wanted him to know my pain, my anger. He got my kicks, my smacks, my claws and bites. I forced myself on him rough, hard, and dry. I slammed his head against the couch frame, I punched him with every thrust, I raked my nails and teeth over every sensitive area. He only whimpered while I yelled and grunted. By the end we gave only sighs and yells of passion. I smelled his blood, I watched it ooze from his nose and from the scratches down his body. I felt truly satisfied, enjoying his flesh even more. Both of us had our moments at the same time, I eventually came to a sit on a chair on the other side of the room.

Victor lie on the couch moving very little. I was concerned at first I may have been a little too rough on him; this was the last thing I needed right now. Soon he was breathing heartily and looking more at me. I glared at him, but was too exhausted to fight. I was actually willing to listen to whatever might come out of his mouth.

"Oh how I have missed you so," he said.

"Can't say the feeling was mutual," I replied.

He rose slightly from the couch, slowly bringing himself to a sit.

"You hate me," he said, his words slightly muffled from his split lip. "I can't say as though I blame you."

"What did you know about that whole thing?" I snapped. "What did Harlowe tell you about his plans? Did you just decide to sleep in that night as I was nearly killed?"

He winced and looked at the floor, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I know you won't believe me, but I swear to God I had no idea what they were planning," he whimpered. "I barely saw after the graduation ceremony. The minute I did he was half drunk, a bit less angry but still on edge. We spoke about the last time we spent with Reg."

"And you told him you had your special moment with him just a day or so before graduation. The fucker told me the exact same thing."

Victor paused for a moment, then he winced again and put his head in his hand.

"Oh God why didn't I think about this," he groaned. "Harlowe…Harlowe asked me if I knew when you had your last moment with Reginald."

"He asked me the same thing. He figured after talking to you and some of the other lads that I was the last one to spend time with him."

"Jealous bastard, pathetic swine."

I should have left the assumption at that, but there was a greater matter at stake. Mentioning this might just take any lingering accusations off me.

"Jealousy? Maybe, but it's a bit more serious than that," I said. "Harlowe accused me of killing Reg."

Victor looked at me in horror.

"What the devil!" he gasped. "No; bloody imbecile, no!"

He paused, resting his head on his hand and looking to collect himself for a moment.

"No, I can't say I'm surprised," he continued. "Harlowe was locked in denial; he worshipped Reg. We all did but he was a bit more possessive. He idolized him ever since they met; he was a big brother to him, a protector, a role model, the sultan's favorite harem girl. His idol couldn't end his own life, so someone must have done it so he creates fantastical stories, sets his sights on the one may have gotten closer to Reg than we all did."

"Hence jealousy all along. That's what I told him as I lay bloody on the ground; he just wanted to eliminate the one closer than he."

"It's bollocks, Grell, sheer bollocks. Reginald killed himself, end of story. He wasn't the rock we all thought he was." Victor paused for a moment. "In truth I will always regret not seeing the red flag right in front of my face."

I furrowed my eyebrows and looked at him. Victor took a few more breaths, likely to keep himself from weeping.

"I was with him a few nights before graduation," he continued. "I'd noticed he was a bit more melancholy in the weeks leading up to the big day, I'm sure you noticed it too."

"I did indeed."

"Something was even more different about him that night. He was very somber; his speech was softer; he was less bellowing, less haughty. I tried to get him to talk to me but he just said he was rather relaxed. I took his word for it, but something just felt odd. When we heard the news, I just kicked myself over and over for not seeing it, wondering so many times if something I said, something I did could have saved him."

I looked down for a moment and sighed. Something could have saved him, someone could have saved him and that responsibility fell to me. No. I couldn't go on thinking on this. Reg ended himself that night, that was it.

"Victor we all have thought that," I said. "It's not going to change his fate; nothing any of us could have said or done would have changed that."

Victor ran a hand through that luscious auburn hair and sighed hard.

"I know, Grell," he said. "I know that, it's only been in the past few months that I can truly accept that."

I nodded, ready to change the conversation to some more pressing matters relative to that finale at the hands of Harlowe.

"What do you know about Thad and the boys' last gift to me," I asked.

Victor rolled his eyes, his expression irritated.

"The twat came up to me the morning I was supposed to leave, telling me he shared an 'illuminating conversation' with you on your decorum," he said. "A few of the other chaps were boasting about it before breakfast. Then a bunch of others rushed up to me, they said they saw you walk through the hall like a withered gent; skin all black, blue and puffed up. I just told them I didn't know, all the while worrying. Then I come back next term and see you weren't there, I'll be honest I thought the absolute worst."

"You cared about me?"

"I most certainly did, and I still do. How badly did they hurt you?"

"Our classmates gave you rather accurate descriptions. Three broken ribs, pissing blood, lost a few teeth, stitched, damn near bedridden for a month, they did quite a job on me."

"Suffering Christ, Grell. Villains and cowards, every last bloody one of them."

"And how many laughs did I get when everyone returned?"

"A few, though you were mostly forgotten. Thaddeus didn't come back."

"What joy for King's Crest."

"I heard he was sent to another school, never heard a name. A few of them didn't return either, perhaps they thought a school that has a suicide is no moral place for their children. As if the roaming band of bullies was any more righteous."

"We're talking aristocrats, Victor, does any of this surprise you?"

Victor grimaced and nodded.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked. "The word going around that your family wanted to give you some hands-on business experience."

"That was indeed true," I said. "Moreover they also said that was not a suitable environment for me for many reasons. Apparently word of our rudeness to other students has been going around my brothers' social circles."

"It's going around other circles too and caught right up with us. Both my parents gave me a rather stern talking to and my brother just had to chime in. I've been a lovely target for chastising by so many angry parents, some holding their spouses back from pummeling me. I'm sure our victims made sure their parents knew about this, especially after what happened with Reg."

I knew exactly who one of these brats were; however I didn't want to name any names out of respect of one said parent who was now a friend.

"In truth I think that was the best for us," I said.

"I couldn't agree more," Victor replied. "Alex and I did a bit more mentoring, or rather some book carrying and lesson assistance to show we could be a bit humble; or rather salvage a bit more of our reputations. Most of the other lads scattered to the winds."

"I assume you graduated."

"I did indeed. Couldn't wait to finally have my certificate and get the hell out of there, though perhaps battle scars build character."

I looked aside and sighed, feeling my blood cooling.

"What will you do from here on?" I asked.

"I'm leaving in two weeks, actually; going on the Grand Tour that everyone of our ilk is so fond of: Paris, Venice, Naples, Vienna, the list goes on. What of you? Continuing with the company?"

"Actually I leave for Oxford at the end of the month."

Victor smiled and nodded, clearly impressed with what he heard.

"Felicitations," he said.

"Merci," I replied.

"In my opinion you're doing much more with yourself than any of us."

Victor looked down at himself, then at me; this stupid smile coming over his face.

"We've been chatting like mad and we're both completely naked," he said with a laugh.

I paused, then started laughing.

"That's comfort for you. Not to mention I was a bit hard on you."

He gently felt his bruises with that same smile.

"I deserved it," he snickered. His expression straightened and he looked at me for a moment. "Now do you believe me?"

"I can't afford to right now," I replied without pause.

He nodded in understanding.

"You've been through too much," he said. "I only hope you can come to trust me on this, but I will never blame you if you don't."

"I appreciate the sentiment," I replied.

By the time we put our robes back on and returned to the party, most everyone was passed out or enjoying quieter drinks and kissing. We got quite a few double takes for Victor's bruises, even a few giggles though it was clear there was no strife between us now; our relaxed smiles and occasional playful caresses communicated that rather well. Victor and I chatted a bit more, had a few more glasses of wine, I helped him apply a warm compress to his face.

I actually felt a bit more comfortable with him. It was just like the old days, though a bit more relaxed. The party broke in the early morning hours, the downstairs company returning to the main house and dressing. Guests left a few at a time over the next few hours. Victor and I enjoyed a bit of bread and cheese, then decided it was time to part. He gave me an open invitation to visit his townhouse before he left; apparently his parents bought him his own. I told him I would have to take him up on that offer. Simon then arrived with the carriage. We parted with a gentle kiss behind closed doors and waved goodbye outside.

Did I trust Victor any more? Hardly. Was I cross with him? Not especially, though I still had to consider all possibilities. The fact he was not in the melee told me enough then, but perhaps I learned a bit more now. I realized when I returned home how happy I was for our reunion, more so for the possibility of making peace with that part of my life.

On Monday I heaped my praises on Jacob for the invitation. He merely said with a wink he was happy I had such a splendid time. I was in a good mood all day, then went home and found something that lifted my spirits even more. Sitting in my post box was a white envelope with a gold seal that seemed familiar somehow. I studied it for a second, then the widest smile came over my face; it was the seal of Marteille.

I ripped the envelope open; a white, ruffled handkerchief fell from the paper, my hand trembled as I held it. I gently put the handkerchief aside and then set eyes on the flowing script of my dearest comte. How lovely it was to read his impeccably worded French.

_My Dearest Grell,_

_A thousand apologies for neglecting to write to you for this long. You can understand the press of dull business and how it overshadows the better parts of life…like good friends such as yourself. Our partnership with your family is thriving and we celebrate prosperity. I sincerely hope there is ample prosperity in your life._

Pierre gave me a sizeable update on his life. He shared an audience with King Louis and the beautiful Marie during the spring and was absolutely gushing about the experience. Having met our regent for but a moment when I was a child I shared his enthusiasm. There were a few updates on some of his most recent ventures, he told me how the party selection was a bit dull this season.

_I do hope you can return to Paris soon, but I understand how a talented young man as yourself has to mind your own affairs. I myself am overdue to pay Jacob a visit, perhaps I will get to London and we can reunite in happiness. I miss you terribly, my friend. I miss our conversations, our happy moments shared together, I miss the very sight of you._

I was in danger of giggling like a lovestruck maiden, though I savored the warmth radiating from my cheeks at his words.

_I pray to the Almighty that we will be in each other's presence again. Until then please keep a little memory of me. Until we meet again, good sir._

_Sincerely,_

_Pierre_

I lifted the handkerchief and held it to my nose, inhaling the aroma of his cologne. This was hardly comparable to having him right here, but I still had a piece of him now; something to remind me of his handsomeness, his gentility, the softness of his touch, the sight of his strong form laid bare before me. I placed the handkerchief back in the envelope and put it in the bottom of one of my drawers.

I would have to write him back, tell him about Oxford, perhaps I would mention the theater. Should I mention Victor? It was a bit to early for that.


	37. Part 37

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 37**

I actually took time to ponder Victor's invitation. As much closure as I felt I had from our fateful meeting, I still harbored lingering doubts whether I could be in an isolated space with him for a few hours and not cut his throat. On Thursday I sent him a polite letter announcing my interest in his invitation and asking for a day and time, telling him my unavailable nights and times.

I ultimately decided he was worth some effort. I didn't trust him as far as I could throw him and I still wasn't convinced he had nil involvement in the whole fiasco. However I had nothing more than my own suspicions, which I needed to either validate or purge. Besides if I got some filthy action from this, the effort would have been worth it regardless of my feelings for the bugger.

Saturday morning I received a reply letter from Victor; he invited me over Monday evening. On Monday I returned home from the office and donned a red velvet suit; not my most garish one, he wasn't worthy of that yet. His townhouse was a short ride from my apartment, matching the usual stately splendor of the rest of Westminster. It was a bit smaller than the ones I was used to, though this was a little egg being given a gift by mummy and papa. I was greeted at the door by a uniformed butler and escorted into the drawing room.

Victor was waiting by the fireplace in a lovely blue suit. I could see he wore a bit of powder over his yellowing bruises; a skilled concealment though I knew where to look for the puffiness and discoloration. We started with polite conversation and a glass of port. It still felt awkward being in the same space with him. Eventually he mentioned his healing wounds, that opened up the conversation a bit more and I felt a little more relaxed. Then he asked about when my driver was picking me up, I didn't like his curious little expression when I told him I rode here. Apparently he didn't like my curious little expression either for he was a sputtering a bit; "But I know your fondness for horses" and that rubbish. My expression didn't lighten all that much.

"I sound a bit like a spoiled little boy don't I?" he asked with his defeated little smile.

"You do," I replied without pause. "I'd rather this didn't turn into a pissing match between rich people; I absolutely abhor those occasions."

"And so do I," he said with a laugh. "My apologies for turning this into one."

"Just don't do it again," I said. "You're no bloody better than me, keep that in mind."

I wasn't going to be polite with him here. He was the son of an earl, but I didn't give a fuck. This wasn't a society occasion, if he treated it like one he was going to regret it.

"I never thought that," he said with a sincere-looking nod. "I know enough of our peers did."

I smiled a little, at least he was aware of why this "baron's brat" was a little intolerant of nonsense; especially from the King's Crest twats.

"I know and I don't care," I said sipping my drink. "You stop caring when you've actually seen the world."

"I'd say that makes you better than any of us, and I do mean that."

The tone of his voice assured me he did indeed.

He told me this Grand Tour he was taking was part of a gap year. His parents wanted him to have some marketable skill other than party banter and amassing family money.

After his year was over he was planning to attend university or work as an assistant to a family friend in the House of Lords. He did share with me a few happy stories he heard about Oxford, this did catch a bit of my interest.

His personal cook prepared us a scrumptious meal, I relaxed a little more and better engaged in conversation. We spoke quite a bit about the markets, Victor gave me some wonderful stock tips. I did tell him I had invested a bit in a few small theaters, there was no way in Hades I was going to tell him about Mersey Hall and my side hobby. If he thought I was a peasant for riding my own horse over, I couldn't imagine his reaction to me acting in some tiny theatrical hole. If he opened his mouth then I would be a bit more tempted to kill him; the more that was avoided the better.

After dessert and another round of drinks, we went to his private study much more relaxed. We talked a little more and got a little closer, then enjoyed gentle kisses. I was somewhat tipsy at the time, but sober enough to recognize how comfortable this felt. This wasn't one of Reg's hurried sessions, there was no vying for the top position, this was merely pawing at lapels and enjoying each other's company. Even Victor pulled back a little and gazed at me; I had a feeling he was thinking the same thing.

"I don't think we've ever been so relaxed together," he said.

I simply nodded.

"We're in your private quarters with no third party dictating our every move," I replied.

"Rest his soul, but I can't exactly say I'm missing him right now."

"Not at all."

I pulled him in for another kiss to stop this whole conversation. I didn't want to talk about Reg, I didn't want to bring up that whole sordid bollocks. If Victor did so then I really would know who I was dealing with. He didn't; he kept kissing me, running his hands through my hair. He was contented to stay in the moment, that relaxed me a bit more.

He whispered in my ear an invitation to his bedroom, I gladly accepted the offer. He told the servants not to disturb him after dinner, meaning we had plenty of private time. His bedroom was gorgeous so many blue hues and velvet furniture; his wide plush bed was especially inviting. We actually kissed a bit longer and undressed slower than I thought we would. In the bad old days we would rip off enough clothing to do the hurried deed. Now we enjoyed the feel of each other's flesh, each other's warmth. I felt like I was coming home in a sense; a home that was a house of terrors I was now rediscovering as a much kinder place.

I insisted that he pamper me; I was owed some recompense for my past hurts. Victor happily obliged. Oh God, how skilled he was tending to my every want; he was not afraid to get a little rough either and experiment with a few things. After I was satisfied enough with his attention, I slammed him down under me.

"Don't be gentle," he cooed. "Give me what I deserve."

I gave him everything he deserved and then some and he was screaming for more. I manhandled him, I punished him, and I could see the wide smile on his face the whole time. In the end I allowed him to give me a little rough service as well. We eventually collapsed on top of each other in a sweating heap; both of us exhausted and giddy. How good it felt to just lie there and not have our clothes thrown at us and barked at to get out.

After another drink and a few more kisses, I cleaned up and dressed; it was late already and I had work tomorrow. I did promise him I would come back before he left for Paris; I wouldn't mind doing this again. Friday was decided to be the best day. Since I would arrive late due to my "previous engagement," he would have drinks ready with plenty of succulent refreshments. We parted with kisses and a few squeezes for good measure. Riding my horse was a bit painful, but it was lovely pain. I went home and slept like a baby that night.

I briefly considered Victor's imminent departure during my daily routine, fast on its coattails was the realization I too would be leaving soon; in two weeks time to be precise. I avoided thinking on it too much. The fact was in the back of my mind as I planned my social engagements and evaluated by finances, otherwise it was something I would rather not think upon.

After rehearsals were done on Wednesday, Colin gently pulled me aside.

"I will be announcing the autumn production in the next few days," he murmured in my ear. "After I make the final decision that is. I think that would be the best time for you to announce your glad tidings."

I tried to keep my calm expression from sinking too much. I simply nodded.

"I'll be ready to tell the rest by then," I whispered back.

He nodded, clutching my shoulder for a moment with a small smile then releasing me and walking off. Any day now I would be telling the news of my imminent departure from this group of friends. No, I would be "announcing my glad tidings" of leaving for Oxford. I purposely overheard some conversations amongst my fellows about scraping pennies together or doing some extra odd jobs to save more aside to know I indeed had glad tidings. Out of all of us I would go on to higher education, or rather I would go off to higher education on another's purse.

I was being sold off to a place where I was supposed to become a more respectable individual; someplace that wasn't London and with my friends, someplace completely foreign. I felt no luckier than a maiden getting married off to a higher class lout, getting ripped from her family to better her (or rather her family's) standing into the custody of a supposedly honorable man she barely knows. Perhaps this was what was going through mother's head when she was married off. Perhaps her family saw her as mine saw me; a tradable commodity.

This particular unwilling bride put on her wanton red dress the moment she returned to the apartment. She downed half a bottle of the nearest thing available; hair a mess, barely any make-up, but she always looked so gorgeous in that dress. The drunker she became the more she spoke her mind on her situation, her relatives, her deep frustration. Through the intoxicated haze I did interject a few more optimistic points. This didn't have to be all bad. Oxford was a lovely man; very intelligent and talented, plus Chamberlain was a respected house for theater. Besides better there than with the scheming family; maybe Oxford wasn't the stodgy bastard she figured he was.

She was greatly appreciative of the reassuring talk, in fact the whole unpleasant matter was out of her mind. Likely the wine played a part in that process, but perhaps these few reasonable words played their part. I laid on the bed and promised to obey her every whim if she could calm down. She was wiggling happily when I lifted her skirt and massaged her worries away, though she was begging me to go rough on her. I was happy to oblige; I put her at ease and punished her like a naughty girl. Last I recall there was much satisfaction.

I awoke to the searing pain of sunlight. After a few moments to collect myself I looked down and saw myself still on the bed in the dress; my skirt pulled up and a bit of a mess all over. I looked at my hands and saw blotches of deep burgundy around my fingers and encrusted under my nails. I sat up a bit, my stomach and thighs stinging. I lifted my skirt a bit more and looked down to see the flesh scored with scratches, dried blood caked all over and my pale, sensitive skin red and puffy. I must have gotten a little too rough on myself.

Thankfully the clock on the wall said half past six. I took plenty of time to pry myself off the bed, then cleaned off the mess from the dress and removed it. If someone happened to come into my apartment uninvited…I would have had ample justification to kill them; paranoia was rubbish. This is my bloody apartment and I will never be afraid of doing in it what I damn well please. I put the dress back in its box, then I washed my wounds with a cloth and some warm water before getting my suit on. The trousers chafed a bit against the scratches but it was a trifle. I was ready just in time for Simon to ring the bell, then I boarded the carriage and went about my day like normal.

I started to look a little more forward to my visit with Victor. I was positively aching for some rough recreation with an actual partner. Thinking of his gorgeous auburn hair and toned body took my mind off waiting when Colin would announce the next play. I did prepare myself for when that moment came; I would give the news as simply as possible. If anyone asked further, I would say I had a benefactor; after all that was the truth.

Colin told the company on Saturday he would announce the next play after Sunday's performance; I had my warning. After the show I rode straight to Victor's apartment, relishing the opportunity for some pleasant distraction. The butler greeted me at the door like last time, Victor was soon greeting me as I went in. He had a light dinner prepared; some soup with bread and a little meat and cheese.

Conversation felt much more relaxed this time. We spoke about parties, lamented family members, traded some stories on some legendary shags. I told him a bit about Pierre, he seemed most intrigued. Lord Aster and Viscount Bellingham didn't exactly impress him; "Those two will pound anything," he said. He did outdo me with the names of a few higher members of London's social pecking order, I was guffawing at some details he shared on men I had socialized with at a few respectable gatherings. From time to time one of us would accidentally bring up some old memory from King's Crest. We would both quell such a word with little laughs, calling it "that unpleasant business."

We had plenty of glasses of wine before we retired to the study. After a few more glasses we were taking off clothes right there. I obliged him a little more; in my mind he had earned it. He did a double-take at the scratches down my stomach and legs, then giggled a bit. I didn't need to say anything; his mind already wrote the story.

"I'll try not to be as rough as your last guest," he said batting his lashes.

He was forceful, but kept to his word. I asked him to be a little more forward with me and he did as requested. I believe his belt was involved at one point, or was that his shoe? Regardless it was marvelous. I would be walking away with some more marks, but it was all in good fun. He had me panting and moaning very nicely.

We collapsed in a messy heap on the floor in a tangle of clothes and sweat and a little more than that. He ran his hand through my hair and looked at me softly.

"It's been wonderful seeing you again, Grell," Victor said to me.

I gently caressed his face.

"It's been wonderful seeing you too," I replied. "I've enjoyed myself so much."

He smiled at me, then his expression became a bit somber.

"I don't expect you to trust me," he said. "Just know I am not your enemy."

I looked into his dark blue eyes.

"I know that, Victor," I replied.

It felt so wonderful to say that.

He smiled brightly, then leaned down and kissed me. It was soft, safe kiss; one that swept away many fears. We just stayed in that moment just kissing, nothing more aside from a few light caresses.

Eventually we separated. I dressed, we shared another glass of wine. Victor was leaving in two days, he was packing and meeting with some family members in the meantime. There would be no time for another gathering, I was actually a bit saddened by that. We promised to write, we promised to see each other again sooner than a year. I gave him one last kiss before leaving.

"Bon voyage," I said. "Enjoy the world."

"You are too kind," he said. "And I want you to go to Oxford and show all those academic prats who's in charge. I want you to learn what you can then go out and make lots and lots of money; enough so you have a few notes to stuff up all your brothers' arses."

I laughed heartily at this.

"You have my word," I chuckled.

We gave each other one last kiss, then I walked out the door with one look and a wave back. He blew me a kiss as the door closed. I rode off in a haze, he drink much worn off but I still kept my horse steady all the way home. I was humming a bit as I put on my nightclothes like a maiden who had been wept off her feet by a handsome suitor. Somehow I was perfectly content with his departure; a little melancholy but I wasn't lamenting the fact. If anything I envied him terribly, but I had my own opportunity. I had to tell myself that over and over, though a part of me knew it was the truth.

I was ready for the end of Sunday's show. That night my movements on stage were a bit more fluid and my voice a bit freer. At the end of the show Colin had us gather round, a bound script in his hand.

"I have done a lot of thinking and it was a difficult choice," he started. "But I came to a final decision."

He turned the script around: "Much Ado About Nothing." Everyone clapped and a few cheers came out. I was never really fond of that play myself; apparently I wasn't going to be missing much.

"This will be a bit familiar for some of us," Colin said.

"Never forget the lettuce," George shouted, invoking laughs from the rest of us.

"Well we will have our revenge," Colin said with a vindictive smile. "We'll be looking at it with fresh eyes, and hopefully our audience will leave the vegetables at home."

A few more laughs slipped out. I laughed along but I knew what would come next.

"Alas, one member of our company will be going down his own bright road," Colin said.

The laughs gradually quieted and smiles relaxed. Colin pointed at me.

"Rich, I will leave the joyous news to you," he said.

I walked forward, hearing a few "aww's" from my fellows and a few gently melancholic expressions. Colin put a hand on my shoulder, I felt even more ready to finally deliver the news.

"This was my little secret with Colin, but now it is time to share with the rest of you," I said. "I will indeed be leaving in two weeks time. My reason for departure is a bit glad; in two weeks time I will take part in the entrance ceremony at the University of Oxford."

Sad expressions turned to surprised joy. The players clapped merrily, a few coming up to me with their congratulations. I felt so much warmth and gladness from these fellows…my friends. I told them I would be entering Chamberlain, a few said they envied the Chamberlain Players for my entrance among their ranks. Someone did mention money, though only to ask if I needed some assistance. Thank you but no, I told them; I had received a generous endowment from a mentor. They were most happy with this, telling me how fortunate I was.

I told them I would return to London when I could. More than a few told me I would always have a family here. I tried my best to keep from weeping at the word. They were glad to hear I would be able to finish "Hamlet." A few said they would plan a going away party the night of the last performance. I ended up going home half an hour later than anticipated after all the lovely words. I went to bed with a few tears in my eyes; I had never felt such overwhelming warmth from people. If only it didn't take the prospect of leaving them to bring this out.

Now I had to deal with this prospect as well as the fact Victor was leaving on Monday. I swore the thought didn't bother me that day, but somehow it occupied a place at the pit of my stomach. I returned home that evening to find a letter from Victor in my mailbox.

_Dearest Grell,_

_By the time you read this I will have left London and embarked on my own grand adventure. I cannot thank you enough for the wonderful company we have shared these past few days. I feel a dark part of my life is warmed by the sun's rays thanks to you. May grand adventures await you, my friend, and always seek them out no matter who stands in your way. I will write when I can and I promise we will reunite one day. _

_With many warmest regards,_

_Victor_

What a darling little bastard. I think I was actually going to miss him.

With Victor gone and the word out at the theater, it was even more obvious to me my time was ticking down a little faster. I vowed not to think on it, instead I endeavored to enjoy my remaining time in London to the absolute fullest. The season was winding down and more people were throwing more parties.

My lessons with Mr. Finley were halted; Jacob would rather I spent my last few weeks in London in relaxed splendor as opposed to nose in a book. I would be getting a much nicer education at the end of August, no harm in a little rest. This gave me more time for gatherings so I could drink and have my ego toasted with congratulations.

Jacob told me of how Matthew recently had portraits done of little Isaac and the other boys. Apparently Matthew recommended this artist's services. Jacob said he would be sitting for this gentlemen and asked me if I would be interested in doing a few sittings on my own. The last portrait done of me was when I was a child on that afternoon when the whole family sat for a painting. The painting was still in the manor, the faces of two phantoms named Annelise and Oskar on display in that work. Jacob thought it was only appropriate I do so now that I am a young man, he said it would be a going away present.

I was open to the idea, I was amiable to an image of me as I was now; seven years passed, now a man of business, society, and stage with four kills, and countless lays in his repertoire. If it were coming from Jacob's pocket why not? I sat down at Jacob's townhouse after work for this gentleman. He was a most agreeable fellow, very efficient, a wonderful conversationalist to the point where he was halfway done his preliminary work and I barely noticed. The beginning bits were amazing; he did a very flattering likeness of me. I sat down for a couple more sessions, then he bid me adieu as he completed the portrait on his own. I even tipped him, telling him I would certainly recommend him to friends. Naturally the finished product would take a while to produce, though I was impressed with him already.

I sold a few stocks that seemed nice and ripe, pocketing generous amounts of money. I did keep a few stocks going, better to have some contingencies. I kept my account in Holborn, but I opened another one in Knightsbridge under a different name. If anyone got wise to the one in Holborn, this was a backup. The amounts in both accounts were rather healthy by the end of August, I figured if the worst happened there was enough to live on for three months until I found other sources of revenue.

A week before I was due to leave Jacob pulled me in the office for a meeting with a few of the other designers. A bottle of wine was out with a few glasses and Jacob was all smiles.

"I have some good news for all of you," Jacob said. "The patents for three of our creations just went through today. I got the paperwork for them this morning, everything all legal."

He took some papers out of a folder and handed them to us. My colleagues looked on them gladly. The papers then passed to me; Jacob watched me take them with a little smile.

I looked down at the paperwork, seeing the government patent declarations for three pieces of equipment I remember having a hand in designing. Right there on one of the papers was my name listed as one of the patent holders with the four colleagues sitting with me today. I knew exactly what this meant; a portion of each sale from all three of these pieces of machinery would go to me. This huge grin came over my face, Jacob smiled and laughed.

"I figured that would help a bit as you embark on your next venture," Jacob said. "You already have a toehold on a most successful career. I figure this should give you some extra pocket money."

We toasted to our successes. Jacob and my fellows added a toast for my future successes.

The week was filled with many social engagements, I would be leaving London society with a bang. Jacob and I did have one obligation that I considered somewhat unpleasant; Elijah was going to be in London for a few days on some ecclesiastical business. We agreed to have at least one dinner with him.

"Only one, I assure you," Jacob said. "I'm as disinterested as playing his host as much as you are. Still it would benefit you to have at least one other member of the family give you his well-wishes before you leave."

I couldn't argue with Jacob's logic. I had barely heard from Elijah since the Christmas fiasco. He did advocate for me rather strongly then, not to mention came to my side for counsel and not to chastise or murder me. Perhaps I owed him the pleasure of my company.

Jacob invited Elijah to his townhouse on Tuesday evening. I wore something modest; I could only imagine him looking down his nose at me for garish dress. Somehow I remember mother's lamentations of Elijah's self-righteousness, lamentations I picked up bits and pieces of as a child but somehow remembered them. I did need to learn to give members of the family more benefit of the doubt. Jacob had proven his friendship, perhaps a tiny measure of trustworthiness; maybe I could give similar benefit to Elijah. Maybe I would make sure only Matthew's brood were in the manor when I decided to set it ablaze, but that thought was just silly.

Elijah knocked on the door around 7, Jacob's butler Benjamin took his coat and we greeted him in the hallway. He looked me up and down with a wide smile, shaking my hand. He had already received word of my successes and there were many congratulations. We actually had some lovely conversation, Elijah was one relative who could converse with me like an adult. A wonderful dinner was prepared; we ate and chatted. Jacob and I talked a bit about work, Elijah talked a bit about family and spreading the Good Word.

After dinner we had a few more glasses. Elijah actually told some randy jokes; nothing too heinous, but the sort you'd never think you'd hear from a man of the cloth. He left around 11 with warm handshakes. It felt good to have such an occasion with him.

After returning home I set to the business of packing. I wanted to make sure I had as many comforts of home with me as possible without packing too much like a king going for a picnic. Jacob had offered a few servants to help me, though I was fine on my own.

On Wednesday I went to the theater for the last rehearsal with my fellows. A few pointed out the significance; I politely asked they save the sentimentality until my last night. We still had a weekend of shows ahead of us.

I tried not to initiate a countdown of days when I arrived at the theater on Thursday. Instead I vowed these last few performances would be the greatest I had ever done. I made good on my word that evening. I put everything into that performance, going places where Colin had previously warned me to steer away from. With only a few days left I couldn't afford to be picky. I died to thundering applause and people threw flowers onstage as I did my curtain call.

We joked a little backstage about how I had to squeeze every last bit out of my performing chops. It was fun to joke about how much squeezing I needed to do. Colin laughed a little as he was passing by, then a member of the stage crew approached him.

"Colin, there's a Rev. Sutcliff who wishes to have a word with you," the crewman said.

My blood ran cold. No, this couldn't be who I thought it was; there were probably a thousand Rev. Sutcliff's in the whole city. A few people overheard this and gave dramatic gasps with a few laughs.

"Now you've done it, I'm answering to God now," Colin said.

We laughed at this, though my laughs were a little stifled. Colin walked forward, though I already saw the side door open. I casually rose from my seat by a mirror and tucked myself off to the side, standing in the doorway leading to the stage. And who the hell should walk right in but my darling brother. I pressed closer to the wall, feeling numb the closer he got to Colin. Why he fuck was he here? How the hell did he find out about this place? My heart was pounding, my fists clenched.

He gave Colin a polite handshake.

"What can I do for you, reverend?" Colin said.

"I just wanted to give you my absolute praises on such a fine performance," Elijah said. "Your company is so blessed with talent, I was most moved by this wonderful show. I am just visiting London and this was certainly a treat."

"Well thank you very much, good sir; we are honored to have entertained you so," Colin said, no small hint of relief in his voice.

Speak your peace and get the hell out of here, Elijah. I wished I had some mental powers to prod him along.

"But most importantly I have to thank you for giving my younger brother such a wonderful diversion," Elijah added.

Sweat poured down my shirt.

"Your brother is a member of this company?" Colin asked with great interest.

"Yes my brother Grell," he said.

My hand was clutching the doorway so hard a splinter burrowed into my finger. I barely noticed the pain, my nerves were already burning so hot.

Colin paused for a moment, looking to be thinking hard on the name. Just leave it be and get the fuck out of here Elijah.

"Oh dear he only told you his stage name didn't he," Elijah said. "Well he is your Danish prince, and quite marvelous I would say."

Colin's puzzled expression straightened right out. I watched as my fellow players; all the friends I had made in this new life, looked on this conversation. I wanted to melt into the floor, then I could hide myself well enough to pull Elijah down and rip his head off.

"Oh bless me, Richard's your brother?" Colin said with a belly laugh.

"Your Richard Morris is my brother Grell Sutcliff, alas it seems he went a bit more into the disguise," Elijah said. "Well with our title and our business, our family has a bit of a notoriety. I can't blame him for wanting to carry on his own affairs under a lower profile."

He was a dead man, his words signed his warrant. Thank you so much for exposing me to all my friends as a liar, a pretender, a rich boy playing with the plebians. For this I am going to follow you out, drag you into an alleyway, and beat you to death with the first hard object I find. It will look like a mugging; after all godless thugs love targeting innocent ministers.

I grabbed the doorway ready to run toward the side exit. I could get into the alley unnoticed and choose my weapon. I sprang to the side, only to feel a hand shove me back in my place.

"Hey, no need to be embarrassed chap," I heard George's voice say in my ear. "At least he's being nice about it. He could be dragging you out by the ear, but instead he's singing your praises."

George was in the dressing room when Elijah came in. He must have been keeping an eye on me this whole time. My hands shook, though my blood instantly cooled with George's words. I took a few breaths to calm myself, my murderous rage quelling slightly.

"Well you don't need to thank me, sir; thank him," Colin said. "He has an amazing talent, I only gave him a stage."

"He is a most talented young man, he has been wanting an opportunity like this since he was a small child," Elijah said. "I thank you for giving him the opportunity to show his gifts. Now where is my brother?"

"He might have gotten caught up somewhere," Colin said. I mentally thanked him for not telling him he just saw me.

"He is rather in demand with his adoring public I suppose," Elijah said with a laugh. "Just let him know I stopped by and gave my highest praise for his performance and all the work you do here."

"I will certainly pass along the message, reverend," Colin said.

Elijah shook his hand again and took his leave. I watched as he walked out the side door, hopefully on his way out the theater.

"You're not going to pummel him now, I'll make sure of that," George said.

I snickered despite myself, looking at George and seeing him give me a knowing wink. If only Elijah knew how George just saved his life.


	38. Part 38

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 38**

George nudged me forward, I was about to backhand him for this but kept my hand still. My fists shook at my side, I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. George looked at me and smiled, patting my shoulder, then pushing me forward. I was actually a little calmer, though still a bit shaky.

The company noticed me walk out; I got a few snickers and smiles in return, though I only saw sympathy in everyone's eyes. I smiled weakly back, I must have looked horrid. Colin walked toward me, arms crossed and face locked in a smile. He looked down the short corridor off to the side and nodded.

"I'm sorry, but I believe you just missed your brother," Colin said merrily.

I just looked at him, getting a few snickers around the room in return. Everyone was taking this whole thing with humor. No one was glaring at me, no one was getting up to question me, there weren't even any sideways glances or stiff smiles.

"Such a shame," I replied, a chuckle of my own sneaking out. "I'll have to send him my warmest regards later."

A few more chuckles peppered the air. Sam put up his fist saying "This counts as regards?" conjuring a few more laughs.

Colin walked up to me.

"I take it that was an unexpected visit," he said.

I gave a stiff smile then nodded.

"An accurate assessment," I replied, my voice still a bit shaky.

Everyone laughed. I just stood there, my smile melting. My nerves were cooling, but were greatly frayed. I looked at all my fellows, feeling my soul laid bare for all to gaze upon.

"I owe all of you an apology," I said, my throat threatening to close up. "I haven't exactly been honest."

"I assume what the good father said was true; you would rather do your own business and not drag a name and a title around with you," Colin said.

"Very true indeed," I said with a nod. "Though there's really no title to speak of. I assure you I'm not some prince in hiding."

"Oh drat, what a disappountment," Ephraim added from the back.

This conjured a few more chuckles, I couldn't help but smile a little.

"My…our brother is a baron," I continued, I knew I was rambling but may as well give some truths. "I'm the farthest from the prize as one can get. I do work in an office; my family's company, as he said. That part was true."

"So you're just another office dog like the rest of us, maybe with a nicer desk," George said with a smile.

I chuckled a bit and nodded.

"Even if you weren't, chap, what bloody difference does it make," Ephraim said, walking a bit closer. "You're still that great guy we've all gotten to know. It's not like you've been demandin' kneeling or tribute. You're just a regular guy, who cares where you come from or how you make your way."

I heard voices of agreement around the room. Slowly a large weight lifted from my whole body.

"Given the circumstances, I'd say no harm done," Colin said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Would you all agree."

I heard voices of agreement all around. They could have spoken in the spirit, or followed Colin's lead not to look rude, but I really didn't care.

"I also recall you mentioning how you were concerned your family would not be too approving of this little activity," Colin added. "Considering what I've learned, I can understand the concern; nobles can be an even stodgier lot."

"Yes, they certainly can be," I sighed.

"But it appears you've got at least one family member who most enthusiastically approves; a man of God no less. Now wasn't there someone else who was asking for you?"

"Yes, that would be 'Mr. Jacob,' as in our second eldest brother. He found out too; he was actually rather pleased himself."

"Good good, it sounds as if you've got some lovely support behind you after all. Now what about Baron Sutcliff, can we expect him to grace us with his presence?"

"Highly unlikely, he's the stodgy one."

"Ah well, maybe someday you'll bring him around."

"You know what offends me?" Shannon added. "The fact we never knew what a pretty name you have. 'Grell,' it sound a bit exotic."

"It's German," I replied with a shaky giggle. "You can blame mum for that one."

"What's in a name?" Jane called from the back, conjuring a few laughs from all of us.

We did make our way to the pub, George bought me a pint for good measure, then put his hand out for me.

"George Carmody, sir," he said, an Irish accent sneaking out. "Pleasure to meet you."

My eyes widened a bit. Here I had only known him as George Caswell. I gladly shook his hand and we both laughed. A few of the players knew him long enough to have heard his real name at least once, though he kept it a bit hushed up. Irishmen didn't receive much respect in London, but no one in this group cared. I knew I could care less.

"Grell Sutcliff, and the pleasure's mine," I replied, receiving a few claps around the table.

I was asked if there were any "proper" way to address me, more out of curiosity.

"I respond to 'twat,' 'aresehole,' and 'hey you,'" I said, savoring the chuckles; a couple pints already relaxing me enough. "But honestly no."

I did tell them who my family was. Apparently a few of them were familiar with the company, or rather the products from either accounting or farm work. I told them what I did; hence yes I really did work in an office.

People were still calling me Rich, but apologizing for it. I just said call me what you like, I truly didn't give a bloody damn what anyone called me. I did ask to be called Richard in more public venues; well venues more public than some back tavern late at night. I still didn't want too much attention for reasons my fellows seemed to understand. Most were using my given name, some having much fun pronouncing it in the most German way they could. Combined with a few pints, this made for some amusing moments.

Sam asked me if I knew a Viscount Remmers, looking at Colin with a little smile. I thought a bit, the name wasn't familiar.

"You know this gentleman quite well, Colin," Sam said.

"I was going to mention him," Colin said, leaning a bit in my direction. "Don't feel like the odd one out; I have some similar decorations in my family."

I couldn't hold back a chuckle that Colin promptly returned.

"Viscount Remmers is my cousin, a few times removed but still there," he continued. "He is a rather generous patron of the arts. I knew a thing or two about theater, he knows a thing or two more about money, so we worked out a little deal. Thankfully this modest operation is self-sustaining, but yes don't feel alone."

We toasted to this.

Everyone remained friendly that night, that was all I needed. Then again I was leaving in a few days anyway, what did it matter? I was going to tell Colin my real name eventually, maybe Elijah did something I was too much of a coward to do. Perhaps I should thank him, instead I decided I wouldn't kill him. As for how I would deal with this, I would save that for later. I was in too much of a good mood now to deal with that.

Near the end of the night most of the company was on their way out. I was as well; I too had work in the morning. Colin pulled me aside to a more private corner; here was where I got the proper ripping.

"Grell, I just wanted to offer a friendly word of advice," Colin whispered. "No, nothing cross, just as a friend. I understand why you told us what you did, believe me I certainly do. I understand how difficult it is being in your situation; the family wants to maintain its duty, make more money, and keep everyone in a neat little line; but that will simply smother the life out of lively people. Not to insult your family pride, but just remember masks can suffocate and duty can be a noose."

"Oh believe me I know," I said with a nod. "I hear everything you are telling me, and believe me Colin I don't intend to get tied down."

"Good, good to hear. Just remember to everyone else you are the mask you wear. Wear enough masks and you'll start thinking they're you're true face. Always remember that."

This struck a nerve. I grimaced and nodded in agreement; he was right after all. We parted with handshakes.

I went home in a rather good mood, I didn't want to think on how I would address Elijah's little visit. By the time I got into my bedclothes I was willing to let the whole thing go. If I tried lodging any complaint for Elijah's intrusion I would only get laughed at. Likewise if I merely questioned it, I doubted the response would be polite.

I was the knob who did this all behind everyone's back, I was the one who tried to be sneaky about all this. Jacob found me out quickly and didn't keep his mouth shut with Matthew. It was inevitable Elijah would find out too, whether through Matthew or Jacob. Matthew would have every reason to encourage Elijah to come backstage and give every well wish using my real name. Jacob understood the art of subterfuge, but also understood the art of lying and patronization. The fucker swore to my face he never told Matthew about this whole thing, whereas I heard the two discussing it last Christmas Eve.

I would question if Elijah did that to embarrass me or expose me. Then again he is such a simpleton he probably didn't realize how I treated this as a cover. He probably just wanted to extol my performance like the good brother he is. After that evening at the pub, I wasn't even angry with him. Perhaps he did do me a large favor; what had deception gained me here but some added anxiety?

I decided I would keep my mouth shut on the whole thing. If anyone in my family addressed my falsehood then I would deal with it, otherwise it was best left a dead matter. When I woke the next morning I did prepare a speech in my head should Jacob bring it up; I figured I may as well admit my foolishness and leave it at that.

It was only when I was fully dressed and sipping my coffee whilst waiting for Simon to arrive that one large realization suddenly dawned on me: this would be my last day at the office. I knew this day was coming, but I kept burying it in the back of my mind. Only now did I feel the weight of this reality. I afforded myself a little sentimentality, overall I was joyful. As much as I regretted leaving London, this was one part of it I would not miss at all.

Alas, I did realize this wouldn't be the last day ever. Likely in about five or so years I would return; certificate in hand with some more techniques stuffed in my brain, all getting me a better desk, some more money, and some louder conversations at the planning table. The thought of it turned my stomach a bit. This didn't have to be the reality, I should go into school with this thought in mind.

At last the bell rang announcing Simon's arrival outside the building. I boarded as usual. We stopped for Jacob to climb aboard, Jacob was looking at me with a smile.

"This day will be our last ride to do the routine," he said. "And you, my friend, will be entering your last day at this office. It chokes me up a bit just thinking on it."

It choked me up for entirely different reasons, hell being here now was choking enough.

He didn't mention anything about Elijah during the ride, just talked about how I would be getting some lighter duties on my last day. I was finding it harder to look at him; the idea burning a bit brighter that he was the one who told Elijah about my "little hobby." It was speculation only, he could have learned it from Matthew. I had resolved the night before not to be cross with any of them for this all was my doing in the first place. Still it didn't make it any easier to look at Jacob at all.

I entered the office for my shift, silently swearing to myself this was the last time I would ever set foot in this place. I was given mostly paperwork to complete, though there were more conversations and well wishes than actual work getting done. A few of my fellows told me some stories from Oxford; about cricket rivalries between colleges, nights of dormitory mischief, mornings of studying. It sounded like the usual school bollocks save for the fact these were much older children.

I saw Jacob periodically through the day. By the afternoon it was becoming a bit harder to return his pleasant banter. No matter how much I tried to talk myself out of it, I was becoming crosser with him and for all good reasons.

Around 4:30 Jacob called me to the front of the office and gathered round the rest of the staff. I was expecting this little ceremonious moment.

"In June of '76, this bright young man standing next to me first entered the offices of Sutcliff Agriculture," Jacob announced, clapping me on the shoulder. "That was over a year ago; one year, hours of experience, countless plans executed by his hand, and three patents in his name. Now my dearest brother will be leaving us, embarking on his future at the University of Oxford. I know I speak on behalf of all of us when I say he will be greatly missed, though with glad tidings."

The workers clapped with shouts of agreement. I put on a smiling face, looking as if I were truly honored. I just wanted to get through this ceremony and get the hell out of here.

Mr. Farrington, the reasonable man I had been working with for over a year, approached with a little wrapped gift in his hand, signing my praises for my creativity dedication, et cetera. He handed me the box, I tore off the paper to reveal a hardwood box with a nice clasp. I opened it, inside was a lovely brass drafting set; small square, compass, ruler, a few pens. It was marvelous for the job, a lovely gift of gilded shackles for this noble prisoner. I was sure it would come in handy at school if nothing else.

The ceremony broke into polite chatter; pats on the back, handshakes, all around good luck's. I shook every hand and returned every kind word, trying not to let my internal chant of "glad to be leaving you bastards" pass my lips. At last it was 5 o'clock, at last I bid my final farewells to the London offices of Sutcliff Agriculture, praying to whoever that I would never return here.

Jacob was all smiles in the carriage, talking about some of our last engagements before I left. We had told everyone in the social scene I wasn't interested in a formal going away party; instead I was making my last appearances at a few scattered events. This way I could spend my last nights at Mersey Hall uninterrupted. It was a charming gesture from Jacob. Of course he made sure I was exposed for who I was in front of said theatrical friends. That thought was becoming harder to clear.

My final and more formal shoving-off gala would be a tea party on Saturday afternoon at Countess Arvin's townhouse. Earl and Lady Phantomhive would be there with a few other of our acquaintances. I was looking forward to one last soiree with the old bugger. Jacob promised me it was only upper class friends of the countess who would be in attendance; no unsavory collections men. I was happy with this announcement, but that Arthur twat had an uncanny knack for sudden appearances, especially with friends.

I returned to my apartment to get ready for that night's play. What did I find in my postbox when I returned? A little letter addressed from Elijah. Oh this was going to be good. I was tempted to throw it in the fire or at least wait until after the play. Instead I opened it, may as well see what he had to say for himself. Perhaps he would admit who put him up to this.

_Dearest Grell,_

_I am leaving London this morning and returning to Colchester, alas you and Jacob were both hard at work for the family effort by the time I left. _

_I wanted to tell you I was at your theater last night; I believe you were out on other business, possibly greeting your adoring public. No doubt you have learned of my visit by now. I did give my praises to the theater owner, however I believe I may have betrayed some confidence in my admiration; I openly spoke your Christian name. They seemed ignorant to the name at first, that was when I realized I had spoken too much. I was not aware your stage name was the name you were known by._

_Grell, you have my humblest apologies for this clumsy misstep. It did not cross my mind that you were trying to keep a lower profile outside of society and my actions were most reckless._

He was owning up to the whole fiasco, that won him half a point with me.

_If you were wondering how I learned of your theatrical endeavor, Matthew mentioned it during my last visit to the manor._

I put down the letter for a moment and cackled mike a madman. So it was Matthew, my first guess was right.

_I paid him a brief visit whilst en route to London. He told me I might see you on stage; that you were involved in a small theater venture. He told me you were a bit modest about your pursuit so not to mention it in polite conversation, I was not aware this modesty extended as far as it did._

"You loathsome bastard," I spat out.

I highly doubted Matthew told him this out of any goodwill. He told him he might see me onstage, but I was so modest about this; don't mention it in conversation? Meaning don't warn him you might be coming, don't let him explain the situation beforehand. Don't let him tell you to keep a low profile and don't let him beg you not to mention his given name. These words had petty retribution written all over them. Matthew was hoping this would happen; he knew Elijah's hopefully naïve exuberance well enough to know he was setting up this scene.

Did Jacob know about any of this? Jacob kept a lower profile when he first found me, but he knew this was a weak point. Then again Jacob likely wanted to keep my confidence through school so I would return to the office, I doubted he would allow such a clumsy move. Still he was the one who informed Matthew, he gave Matthew a shiny toy he used as a weapon. Jacob was guilty by association in my mind. As tempting as it was to call him on his bluff, I still had nothing to gain from it. Jacob would know my every move; nothing would change. Nothing I did was safe from scrutiny, he assured Matthew of this fact last Christmas. I accepted that fact once, but could I accept it when it lead to such consequences?

I took a deep breath and continued Elijah's letter.

_I tell you this only for an explanation, but do not be cross with Matthew. It was my decision to come backstage, it was my decision to speak to Mr. Avery. The fault for this misstep is all mine, brother and you have my sincerest apologies. _

_Let me tell you now, Grell: you were amazing on that stage. I eventually forgot I was watching my brother, instead I was watching a noble prince fighting for his father's honor. I was moved to tears by your performance; you are a brilliant actor blessed with a great talent from the Almighty. I was so moved I had to share with you my gladness, alas I acted a bit rashly. _

_I hope you can forgive me and that my actions did not cause any damage. I love you dearly, Grell, and I hope you can keep me in your trust. _

_May the blessings of God be with you in your endeavors, brother. Know you always have a friend in me._

_Sincerely,_

_Elijah_

I put the letter down then sighed. He was an idiot, but a well-meaning idiot by my estimation. Despite his foolishness, he seemed sincere; perhaps he was the only living Sutcliff brother capable of such a thing. He had nothing to gain by betraying me, in his mind he likely had much to lose. Still, trusting any of those blighters was foolish. I folded up the letter and set it aside. Perhaps I would write him before I left; he was owed a goodwill gesture.

I returned to the theater that night, Elijah's praises in the back of my mind. A few people asked if I spoke to him, I said I did and all was well though didn't expound any further. I was content to leave the matter at a happy close. I had just three shows left including tonight, I would rather everything were smooth and lacking all fuss.

I put everything I had into that performance, what did I have to lose by now? I imagined I was talking to Matthew, then Jacob every time I cursed out Claudius. If this was going past a few character limits I truly didn't care. At the end the applause were still loud and flowers still flew to the stage at curtain call. I left the theater truly happy that night.

Saturday afternoon I put on a particularly frilly red outfit for the countess' tea. This was essentially to be my last major fete before leaving; my going away party as it were. I was clearly the guest of honor, getting a seat beside the elderly hostess and being greeted by a number of high noses. Earl Bram and Countess Jeanne made a fashionably late appearance. It was wonderful seeing both of them, I felt I indeed did have friends there.

My nerves cooled a little around Jacob; now I knew he wasn't the one who sicked Elijah on me. He was hardly free from responsibility in my mind, but he wasn't the main culprit here. Besides I was going to be leaving this arsehole in two days, best maintain some jovial appearances.

It was a lovely party; no dodgy characters, all semi-sincere smiles. I took all the stories and advice with polite smiles, perhaps some of this knowledge would indeed help me. Being the center of attention gave me a little more enjoyment. I was the toast of society right now; such a designation actually meant something to me in this case.

The party ended around half past five with handshakes all around. I accepted a loose embrace from Earl Bram and a kiss on the cheek from Countess Jeanne. I was sure I would actually miss them. I even tolerated Jacob's presence in the carriage a bit more. I was in such good spirits.

I returned home and got ready for the theater; my penultimate show. More than a few of my fellows observed the occasion, cheering me on as we took the stage. It was the next to last show for everyone as well; "Hamlet" was closing tomorrow night, "Much Ado About Nothing" would start up soon after.

I pressed myself as hard as I could, but felt my malice dwindling. My endeavor now was my art; doing the best I could to burn my performance in the minds of everyone in the audience. I believe I was successful; there were gasps at the right scenes and riotous applause at the end.

Colin gathered us around at the end. Tomorrow marked the end of "Hamlet," he announced, and the end of my time with the company.

"I want you all to put on the most smashing show you can tomorrow," Colin said. "Afterwards we will gather to celebrate a fine show, and a fine actor embarking on his new journey."

This would be my true going away party with my true friends. Fuck these stodgy noble buggers, fuck the scheming bastards with whom I was cursed to share blood; this was my real family right here. They had seen me grow from a boy into a man; they learned of my faults, my joys, even my true identity and showed nothing but love. I had no idea if any of them were sincere, but they were still a hell of a lot better than everyone else who had plagued my life with false hopes and grand betrayals.

This was my real family…and I would be leaving them. Typical bollocks, wasn't it?

Perhaps it would be for another family, at school? Perhaps this was only temporary, or perhaps all of this would be gone from sight and mind.

Such was part of the "new journey" I suppose.


	39. Part 39

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Author's Note: I don't want to spoil the ending, but I did want to give people fair warning: there's some triggery stuff that will be going on in this chapter related to violence. Just a head's up.

**Part 39**

It wasn't until I awoke on Sunday morning that I realized how empty and desolate the apartment looked. The furniture was the same, though the signs of everyday life from glasses to clothing were gone. Everything was clean and cleared, it looked like a gutted carcass on pretty display. Said insides were now stored in a small pile of trunks in the corner of the sitting area.

Most of my belongings were packed up and would be tied on top of the carriage tomorrow morning. I would have a nice dormitory room waiting for me in Chamberlain College; single occupancy of course, a bit roomier than others for a few extra pounds. It likely wouldn't be as big as this apartment, possibly around the size of my room at King's Crest, but in a much nicer place…hopefully.

This apartment would remain mine even when I had gone to school. Jacob said it was best for me to retain a space of my own for holidays and visits, or rather to keep warm for me when I returned to stay for good. He said if I wished to make any other side arrangements for lodging such could be discussed. In the meantime I would have a place waiting for me in London; a place Jacob and Matthew would probably be sifting through whilst I was away to find illicit items or anything they could sell. I wouldn't put it past any of them.

This was the reason why I took out the box containing that gorgeous red dress. I spread the luscious garment on the bed, staring at it for a moment. Bringing it to school seemed out of the question, but leaving it here would be even more of a problem. What if my fears were justified and Jacob did search the room? I was fortunate he smiled upon my more illicit predilections, but would he be so unmoved upon learning of this one? I couldn't afford such scrutiny.

I probably would bring it with me. I wouldn't be able to pack it as gently as I had stored it, but then it would be my own personal possession in my own personal space. What if I did slip it on in private, as I was doing now? I felt the velvet over my skin, reached back to fasten the hooks, adjusted the petticoat. The lady was putting on her dress for the last time before walking down the aisle. Would she be able to wear such fineries in the presence of such a practical man as Lord Oxford. Would she ever be able to show her true, colorful self.

I reassured her she would never wild under this arrangement, she was too much of a strong woman to be pressed down. Lord Oxford may have been a man of practicality, but he was a man of art, plus he had no choice but to respect his lady's privacy. This would not be the last time she put on this gown and danced gracefully, drink in her hand and voice in song.

She still danced, sipping a few glasses of wine. I knew she did not want to think this her last moment of freedom, but such thinking was inevitable. On Wednesday she would don her sacred gown and walk down the aisle, I assured her how pretty she would look for the ceremony. This arrangement will be for the best, I told her; if only I could believe that myself. She seemed hardly reassured, likely my words still had little bearing regardless.

I did lay her down on the bed and made love to her; not as rough as we were last time, but I wandered a bit further. The sound of her sighs was music to my ears; if I could do nothing else I wanted to make her happy. I pushed the thought from my head that she would soon vanish from my life forever. Instead I concentrated on making her tremble and pant, adding a little force in the right ways. She was biting her hand to keep from screaming before she released.

I paused afterward, allowing myself to relax on the bed; the lady feeling oh so beautiful and oh so loved. I promptly rose, removed the dress, washed up a bit, then gently folded the garment, putting it in a bag at the bottom of a trunk. It would likely wrinkle, but I didn't care. I couldn't leave here without it, no matter what potential risks this might entail.

Aside from a few sundries, the last of my packing was completed. I was ready to leave London…in body if not mind. Thankfully those few glasses of wine relaxed me a bit, keeping me from being too melancholy on the subject. This was my last day in London for who knows how long; may as well celebrate this wonderful city and not mourn it.

I dressed properly and went out, savoring my last hours here. I did have one engagement, a luncheon with some lord whose name I barely remember. I actually savored my last moments at some societal rubbish, until I grew bored and left a bit early. I shopped a little, went to a few clubs, saw some cheap opera that was relatively decent and not too lengthy. I walked around, savoring the stench and cologne, greeted a few familiar faces, visited a few more clubs.

By the evening I was nicely relaxed, but I couldn't get too tipsy. My last show was that night after all and I needed to be sharp for it. A nice dinner helped that process, even aiding when I visited another club later. I returned to my apartment around 5, still sharp but nice and giddy. I was going to change out of my nice brown suit and into something rougher but decided against it. I wasn't hiding anymore, besides why not show up to my last show a bit fashionable?

I had to watch how I steered darling Daisy, I was close to thundering through the streets like a charging knight a few times. I managed to keep her at a slow gallop though my heart was pounding with excitement. I arrived at the theater feeling like a conquering hero; I trotted to the stable like a knight on parade about to greet his subjects before leaving on a heroic crusade.

I entered the theater with a spring in my step, walking backstage and practically bowing when I saw my fellows. My outfit got some compliments, a few remarks of "going out in style." I told everyone I had been rather busy that day, the whole last day in London business; changing seemed like a bother. I put on my costume for the very last time, made sure my make-up was perfect, and neatly tied my hair back.

I was so giddy, chatting merrily, talking about plans, talking about the evening, embracing everyone. I never felt so free, so happy. I felt I needed to savor every moment tonight for they would be my last. A few people commented on how joyous I seemed, I could only express how happy I was that evening.

Everyone was in a good mood; it was the last night of "Hamlet," Colin would be holding readings for "Much Ado About Nothing" next week, waiting a little longer than usual to get ready for the next play. He did tell me it was out of courtesy to me, besides this play had been rather successful; why hurry it along?

At last the hour had come. The house was packed, everyone was in their costumes, the final moments had come. Colin gathered us around, we all linked hands in prayer.

"God almighty, bless us on this final night of our wondrous production," Colin said, eyes closed and head slightly raised. "Let this last night of 'Hamlet' be glorious and guide us in doing our utmost to bring joy to our audience. Lord, please also be with Mr. Grell Sutcliff, our Richard Morris, on his final night in our midst."

I couldn't help but smirk a bit.

"Guide him in his journeys and may he be successful, in the meantime let us all enjoy these moments together on this night. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost we pray. Amen."

The group responded with "Amen," a few crossing themselves. We then pulled back with cheers, ready to get this underway.

I waited backstage for my cue. I found myself pacing the floor, fidgeting like mad. I was so anxious, though enjoyed a few conversations backstage. It was when I took a moment to try to calm myself I realized I was unnaturally giddy, it was clear by now my last few drinks were lingering. It was no matter; I was still sharp, I clearly remembered my lines and my blocking. I was only more relaxed now, a good state for acting.

At last it was my time, my last entrance. I was determined to go out with a bang; I would hold back nothing. I got up on stage, my slight tipsiness making me relaxed yet still on point.

I started quietly, like the quiet prince I was supposed to be. I then began my first monologue and I opened myself right up. I wasn't lamenting my state, I was screaming at it; I was saying the lines as if cursing all the bastards around me. This felt honest, raw, like I had nothing else to hide. I thought for a second I was getting too much involved, though the loud applause at the end of the speech told me everyone enjoyed it.

Thus how the rest of the play went. Reeling in my tone was difficult, but I had to remind myself such was how Hamlet would speak. I was Hamlet tonight; I was in a castle in Denmark fighting for my honor against a tyrant. The words of my dead father crushed me, I truly acted mad around Polonius; shoving my book in his face. I would duck backstage after my scenes, trying not to fidget even more.

More than a few people would put a hand on my shoulder and talk to me directly, basic things: "It's a good night," "Relax a bit, you'll be back on soon." I think it dawned on me that my state was a bit obvious. Oh well everyone was loving my performance, what did I care?

At last it was time for the "To be or not to be" speech, the speech I gave to the Oxford board. At first I went back to that nervous moment, but then yanked myself away from the polite delivery. I kept the spirit of the speech though my tone was a bit more frank. It was a moment I owned, a moment in which I poured out all my fear and all my resignation to my fate. The applause I received were thunderous.

I had my scene with Shannon next, the harrowing moment between Hamlet and Ophelia. I tried to remember gentleness when grabbing her arm, then I just threw all caution to the wind. I was a bit rough on her; I saw a few concerned glances in my direction from her and saw her brace the fall onstage like a cat anticipating a landing. She still went down hard, I heard a yelp amidst Ophelia's bawling and pleading, but she got up fine. A tiny part of me wished she would have stayed down, screaming and crying out of character. Oh it would have been such a dramatic moment, instead her crawling was more her performance. I did see her brace her elbow a bit, perhaps there had been some drama after all.

It was soon intermission and I went backstage, feeling my drunken giddiness waning. I did walk up to Shannon and apologized for my roughness, it was the gentlemanly thing to do after all. She showed me a bruise on her elbow, but with a chuckle.

"You certainly have been spirited tonight," she said; her snicker told me she was taking this in humor, though her pointed look had some essence of scolding.

George and Ephraim pulled me back to have a little sit. "We've got a whole half a play to go, let's just cool off a bit" was the general sentiment. The message was loud and clear; I was getting a bit too exuberant, perhaps a bit reckless. I still had a few more fights and confrontations to go, perhaps my opponents were getting a bit nervous. I tried not to smirk on the thought, reminding myself these were my friends.

By the time the curtain opened again I was a bit more relaxed, a bit more level-headed. My performance was slightly gentler though no less passionate. I still took immense satisfaction in watching Claudius run away in guilt and standing over him with a raised sword. I made sure to deflect my sword when lunging for Polonius, only feeling the fabric of James' sleeve and feeling him drop on cue. I also reminded myself to be easy on Margaret as Gertrude in our confrontation, I was a bit gentler with her than I had been with Shannon.

I went backstage in a good mood, though I knew my final scenes were coming up. The fire in my belly rose up a bit more; mainly out of nerves, partly out of passion, a small part out of pure dread. This was it after this; the final curtain on my time here, the last time I would take this stage. I was beyond trying to reassure myself such did not have to be the case.

I wanted so badly to walk up to Colin, tell him I was staying, tell him my fortunes changed and I would not be attending Oxford. It was an absurd fantasy, but one that was growing in my mind the longer Claudius and Laertes talked about my impending doom. A part of me almost wished this plot were real, a silly thought but one borne from a growing sense of desperation.

I shoved down all my nerves and used them as fuel for this artistic fire. If this was to be my last few moments on this stage, I should make them memorable. This thought was in my head when I went out with Ephraim for the scene in the churchyard. I went onstage with a renewed drive; I wanted to give a memorable performance for these last remaining moments.

I accepted my fate as Hamlet had, I gave Yorrick a soft kiss on the cheekbone embracing what was to come. I confronted Laertes with zeal, angered yet welcoming him as my executioner. The scene with the fool Osric lightened my mood a bit, getting me prepared for that final battle.

I had to remind myself I was but an actor on the stage, my opponent's name was Sam and not Laertes. I was not truly aiming to kill him, I was pretending I was. In that case it as best to pretend as well as I could. I poured every last bit of passion I had into this final scene. I struck Sam a bit hard with my foil, but I didn't care at this point. I savored his death, as I savored Margaret's. Alas poor Gertrude; this was what treachery earned you, you bitch. I tried to be gentle on Colin but I failed a bit in that respect. I stabbed him a bit harder than I intended and pulled his hair with a bit more force, though I was a bit softer when putting the cup to his lips.

At last I had my revenge, at last I could die at peace in the arms of my close friend. Hamlet was dying, as was my time in London, as was my time with these wonderful people. Perhaps I was dying too in a way, the last death of mine anyone would see.

This would be the death of Richard Morris, right in front of all these people; a public death for an entity that only existed in a public mind.

I looked up at Ephraim, savoring the warmth of his arms and the hard stage below my bottom.

"On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice," I gasped. "So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, which have solicited. The rest is silence."

My body went limp, I closed my eyes. Here lies Richard Morris, a heroic mask worn by a foolish boy; a skin sloughed off from a snake. I lay there, listening to the other players around me, knowing I would have to get up soon; the pink, defenseless body of The Honble. Grell N. Sutcliff ready to slither along.

I heard the applause, then the sliding of the curtain. I opened my eyes, screaming at myself to get off this stage but feeling a little too comfortable in this dark hiding place. Ephraim grabbed my arm and pulled me up, I was soon upright and dizzy. I didn't want to leave here, but I had to. It was time for curtain call.

I went backstage to a plethora of embraces and happy words. Everyone was in such high spirits. The company then went onstage a few at a time. I watched as my fellows went before the audience, the applause were overwhelming. At last I took Shannon's hand, kissing the back of it as a small act of goodwill. She gave me a sly smile back and we walked to the stage. Shannon went out first, then pulled me along and let go of my hand.

I went out for my own final moment, the applause grew to screaming and thundering claps. I bowed, blowing kisses to the audience, watching as flowers flew onto the stage. In my mind this was Richard Morris' wake. All his admirers viewed his corpse as I danced it around merrily. I shoved out this thought; this was my moment, my final curtain call. I saw everyone out of their seats, smiling faces all looking up at me. All this admiration was for me, a thunder I vowed I would keep with me for the rest of my life.

We linked hands and took that one final bow. Then we all left together, I bade a silent farewell to the stage of Mersey Hall.

I stepped backstage and was immediately smothered in embraces and words of exuberant praise. I savored all of it; every embrace, every voice, every person I truly had grown to love. Now it was ending, but I had to let it end with the utmost happiness. We removed our costumes and make-up. I got back on my nice suit, though it was yet another costume in my mind; the snake growing back his skin though still soft. I tried to bat aside these sad thoughts, now was my formal going-away party.

I tried not to look back when leaving the building during our spirited march to the pub, I simply walked out; ready to put all of this behind me. We entered the tavern like knights who finished a successful campaign. The place was nigh empty and the jovial tavern keeper had set up tables and glasses waiting for our arrival.

We drank, we chatted, we laughed, we shared tales and memories. I apologized to Colin for my roughness, he said he bade it no mind.

"You were in the spirit, all of us have had such moments," he said.

No one was really commenting on my rough exuberance that night, perhaps everyone wanted to be polite in the spirit of the occasion.

I freely imbibed, though truly tried to be careful; I wanted to avoid another spectacle. I was exercising some restraint, I would wait until I was at home before finishing the job. In the meantime I wanted to be clearheaded enough to spend these last few moments with my friends. A few twitchings of fear came in, but I drank them away.

Near the end of the evening, Colin called on everyone to be quiet. Then he walked up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"On this evening I would like to recognize our friend who we knew as Mercutio, grew as Lucentio, and will leave us a brave Hamlet," Colin said. "We met him as Richard Morris, then met him as Grell Sutcliff; getting to know more of the man behind the mask."

I smiled, my face growing red. I took another sip of my next pint to relax me a bit.

"Alas we will be losing him for another company, we truly envy Chamberlain College for they are getting a most excellent actor and a fine gentleman," he continued.

Everyone raised their glasses with cheers. I raised mine too, my face growing hotter though a slight unease was building in my chest.

"Naturally I must leave you with some words of wisdom from a mutual friend to all of us," Colin said.

He dramatically cleared his throat and put up a hand.

"The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, and you are stay'd for," Colin continued.

Everyone laughed heartily, I buried my face in my hand and giggled ridiculously. He was going into Polonius' speech to Laertes as his son leaves for his own education.

"My blessing with thee! And these few precepts in thy memory see thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; but do not dull thy palm with entertainment of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade."

I laughed a bit harder at these particular lines, though realized I was trying to hold back tears.

"Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; for the apparel oft proclaims the man, and they in France of the best rank and station are of a most select and generous chief in that."

I giggled a bit, briefly thinking on Pierre when he said this. I was due to write to him soon. Perhaps this was one lingering part of my life I would take into university with me.

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry."

Colin knelt to the floor and looked me right in the face.

"This above all: to thine ownself be true," he said the lines with this expression of grave sincerity. "And it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man."

Colin put an arm around my shoulder and smiled.

"Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!" he said, then looked at everyone and lifted his glass. "To Grell Sutcliff, may he have success in all his ventures."

Everyone raised their glass, calls of "Here here" went in the air. I raised my own glass, rising slightly and clinking glasses around the table. I looked into everyone's smiling faces; the faces of my comrades, my fellow actors. I had kept these people at arm's length for nigh on a year and only now knew who I truly was, only now as I was leaving them. It felt like The Last Supper, I was hardly Christ but I was going to be carted away like he was.

I subtly pounded down one after another, trying to dig up the dread that had planted itself in my mind. The drink only made it worse; the more relaxed I became, the more I dwelled on my impending departure. I hoped another and another would take care of the rest, but it didn't. I decided to stop before I got too ridiculous. I was still upright and coherent, the double-edged sword of developing a tolerance.

At 11 everyone parted with embraces and smiles. Everyone urged me to write often and visit when I could. Everyone was clinging onto a small measure of hope when there likely was none. My reason told me I would never see any of these people again; a reason that spoke too loudly thanks to the drink. A few people asked if I needed a carriage, I said I was perfectly fine; lying that I would be walking anyway. I was at the point where I wanted to be away from everyone. Enough with long goodbyes, let's get this bloody mess over with.

I gave my last embraces to Colin, to George, to everyone, then I turned away. I walked around a little then returned to the stables where I left Daisy. I probably wasn't in the best condition to ride but it was no matter. The worst that could happen was I would fall off my horse, break my neck, and have this whole rubbish over with.

I mounted Daisy, tossed a crown to the stable keeper, and began a trot toward my apartment. My trot turned into a slow gallop, then I went down a street that veered from my course. I really didn't want to go home right now, I would rather ride a bit through London and savor these streets before I would be pulled away from them. I was setting my eyes on this grand city for the last time in my life, what awaited tomorrow was dour oblivion. I rode a bit faster, praying that a flower girl or a dog would suddenly run out and spook my horse.

Alas it wasn't happening, a few wagons cut me off but I unfortunately remained mounted. I rode a bit faster, by now a constable would be coming up to me and telling me to slow down. Perhaps it would make into a lovely chase and a pleasant mess, though the watch was usually unmotivated for such dramatics. Regardless I wasn't interested in going out in infamy. I would rather be a tragic story; a young man on the eve of going to Oxford rides his horse a bit fast then has an incident.

The incident could involve that hay wagon over there, an elderly lady behind the reins keeping a slow pace. It was too bad our young hero saw the wagon when it was too late to veer from course. Instead he let out a few yells and tried with futility to yank the reins, but it was too late. The elderly lady looked at him in horror as the horse collided with the hard wood, its neck breaking with a large snap. The tragic boy flew off his saddle and flipped into the air. The only end to this would be his back twisting on the cobblestones, then sweet oblivion.

He wasn't expecting his shoulder to catch on one of the wagon's rails and the searing pain of the ball coming out of its socket. Nor did he expect he would then fall a bit slower, his hip hitting the ground hard. He rolled over, realizing the cobblestones and a small pile of ox shit were right under his nose. What an anticlimactic end to this tale.

I managed to roll back over, laying my head on the ground. Every muscle screamed, every limb shook, every breath was in scared heaves. There was shouting all around me, footsteps rushing over. I saw the elderly woman leaning in my face.

"Oh God sir, are you all right," she screamed in my face. "I'm so bloody sorry sir, I really am."

A few more faces came into my vision all the usual.

"Can you hear me, lad?"

"Can you move?"

"Stay still, we'll fetch a doctor!"

"Someone call a constable! A man's been hurt!"

All this fuss all for me, unfortunately I was hearing all of it with sharp hearing. My vision was clear, my breathing strong, I was still alive. What the bloody hell was I doing lying here? I managed to roll over on my side, pain shooting through my him that sent me back down for a moment. A few of my new admirers told me to lie still, but I really wasn't in the mood to do so.

I pushed past the pain and managed to come to a sit. My back was aching terribly, I flexed it the right way and heard a loud snap followed by a stab of pain. I yelped, a few people around me gasped though I waved them off. My back actually felt much better, perhaps a bone had gone out of place and I popped it back in. I shifted my weight on my uninjured left hip, trying to avoid leaning on my aching arm. I was shaking horridly, but pulled my attention forward. I looked up at the older woman.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I said, my voice trembling. "This was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."

She looked at me and shook her head.

"Don't worry yerself, lad, just stay still," she said.

I heard a voice off to the side say "Clear the way, clear the way!" I looked up and saw a man in a blue coat and tricorn rushing up to me. The night watchman stopped in front of me the crouched down a bit.

"Ya hurt bad, sir?"

I shook my head, then leaned on my good arm to bring myself up. After a bit of difficulty I came to a leaning stand; my hip punishing me for the action. I explained what happened: I was riding too hard and crashed into this woman's carriage. The watchman leaned in my face, his nose wrinkling.

"You've been drinkin' too, have ya," the watchman said.

I nodded, he just looked at me and shook his head.

"Yer bleeding lucky to be alive, chap," he said, pointing his stick at the wagon.

I looked over and saw poor Daisy crumpled on the street, her neck practically twisted around. The wagon had a good sized hole in it and the corners of a few bales were poking out. An easy fix, she could probably just nail a few boards over the hole. I did reach into my purse and handed her three pounds with a shaking hand. She took the coins with wide eyes.

"I hope that will be enough for my foolishness," I said, patting her hands.

"This isn't necessary, sir," she said. "It's just a quick fix-up."

"Consider this a fine for the inconvenience," I said.

She looked at me and nodded.

"Thank you kindly, sir," she said.

The watchman sent for a carriage to bring me to a local doctor, a few kind souls stuck around to make sure I was all right. My nerves calmed, though I only ached more. I felt my aches, then looked at the wagon, then my poor steed, then all the people standing around. One clear thought went through my mind: what the fuck did I just do? Every second waiting for the carriage was like an eternity. Perhaps this was what hell was like; having my nose stuck into every stupid thing I had done reminding me how much of a bloody idiot I was.

I got another nice lecture from the watchman on the perils of riding while drunk with a few stories of bodies that weren't so lucky. I was aware of the perils, I was having a hard time admitting to myself such was my intention. Did I seriously just try that? Was I really going to go through with that bollocks, all over a change in location?

At last a modest carriage arrived. The watchman helped me inside and bade me to lie on the floor. He rode with me a few blocks, the driver wasn't exactly careful on the stones. Finally we stopped, the watchman guided me up and helped me into a building. He knocked on a door, announcing his presence and purpose. A woman in a flowered dress answered, looking at me and bidding us to enter. We did so and a handsome man with black hair pulled into a ponytail greeted me, I believe his name as Dr. Gordon.

He gently lead me into his office and had me lay on a doctor's bench. The watchmen bade us goodnight.

"Remember this before you act so foolish again," he scolded me before tipping his hat to the doctor and leaving.

Dr. Gordon was rather gentle, only asking me what happened. He was rather easy on the eyes too, I placed him in his late twenties; fit, clear skin. His wife occasionally dropped by and I could hear a few small children a room over. What a lucky woman. My shirt was taken off and I was enjoying the way he gently felt my bare shoulder and down my back, asking me how much pain I was in. Then he examined my hip, pulling down my trousers over that area and gently feeling the muscle. I hoped my sudden excitement wasn't showing too much.

My hip was sprained; nothing insurmountable, just a few weeks of bedrest should do the trick. I had no intention of laying in bed for a month, but I held my tongue. My back seemed fine; a bone out of place that shifted back in. The good doctor had me sit up a bit, then put a wooden stick between my teeth.

"This is going to hurt something wicked for a moment," he said, taking a hold of my shoulder.

I nodded, knowing exactly what he was going to do. I bit down hard on the stick and got ready for the moment. One hand clutched hard on my chest, another clamped on my shoulder. With a strong force he shoved the ball back in its socket with a crack. I let out a scream, teeth gnashing on the stick. The wave of pain faded, leaving only a sharp ache. I let go of the stick and breathed a sigh of relief.

He bandaged up my shoulder and put my arm in a sling. It dawned on me having my left arm injured might pose a few problems, but I would deal with those later. He gave me a crutch for my hip, instructing me on resting, not doing too much strenuous for about a month. Riding in the carriage tomorrow was going to be a nightmare, but it wasn't the first time I had taken a school trip badly hurt, though this time my wounds had been already treated. This was going to be a shock for Jacob in the morning, though I wanted to see him uncomfortable.

Dr. Gordon gave me a bottle of laudanum for the pain, advising me to go easy on it. He gave me his own lecture on the perils of riding after drinking, I nodded my head and pretended I heard him. He offered me a ride back home which I gladly took. Wouldn't it be lovely if he would offer me some other manner of massage for all my aches, but it was just a fantasy. He helped me in his nice carriage and took me to my apartment. I gave him a few pounds and thanked him for his service. I then took the slow, painful walk up the steps to my apartment; leaning heavily between the crutch and the railing. I was walking to my apartment a cripple, I made sure to remind myself this was all due to my own stupidity.

I was happy to see the apartment again, trying not to think this would be my last night here. Whatever, such was how it was; I had lamented this way too much. Was I such a bloody coward? I knew the answer to that, I just relished the fact I was even looking on this at all.

I lay in bed for an hour or so, looking at the bottle of laudanum and refusing to take a drop in some form of self punishment. I ached all over, my own fucking fault. I cursed out Reg for such cowardice and here I had given into the same. This was ridiculous, what the hell had I been so afraid of? Nothing was worth such an action, it was giving into my own fate. That wasn't going to happen; I didn't care what anyone thought of it.

The thought crossed my mind to get up, take as many light necessities I could, and run off. Alas I didn't have a horse anymore, running off in my current state would be difficult anyway. Even if I did someone would be looking for me. No, the best thing for me to do was go through with this. I would get in that fucking carriage in the morning and go to Oxford. I had said all of my goodbyes already, I had place to be and someone footing the bill. Moreover an Oxford education would get me every opportunity I could desire.

I would go to Oxford, but everything from now on had to be on my own terms. I didn't care what Jacob or Matthew thought about anything, they were dead to me now. I would go and I would work on my own plan. I had my own money, I had my own connections; Sutcliff Agriculture was behind me, the whole family was behind me, I was my own man. If I had to stay a year and vanish then so be it.

At last I grabbed the bottle of laudanum and out a few drops into a glass of wine. I sipped, drinking to the vow that I would pursue my own happiness no matter what the expense. I put the glass down, then drifted off into a happy sleep.

* * *

Author's Notes:

-The last scene had some inspiration from a real life incident that fit with the story my Grell muse has been telling me. If you read the author's notes for "This Immortal Coil" you'll know what I'm talking about.

-All the Shakespeare Quotes in this chapter and in previous chapters have come from The Complete Works of Shakespeare website at shakespeare-mit-edu, a site that has Shakespeare plays in its entirety.

-A little historical note: you see Grell getting a lot of lectures for riding while drunk but you don't see him getting fined or arrested. This is because OUI laws didn't go on the books in the UK until around 1872. Because of the prevalence of alcohol in London in the 18th century, drunk riding was a common problem.


	40. Part 40

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 40**

As it was when I left King's Crest, I was waking up the morning of my departure for Oxford in screaming pain. My shoulder and hip were nice and puffy, neither wanted to move; even being against the mattress was too much. My back wasn't doing too much better, if I even positioned the wrong way waves of aching shot into my legs. It felt as if my whole torso was on fire.

In my condition I probably shouldn't have even left bed, I should have stayed laid up indefinitely. But it was now as it was the day I left King's Crest; staying in bed wasn't an option. After a few minutes I managed to pull myself upright, though the whole time in agony. It took me an hour to peel some decent clothes on; every bit of stocking, trouser, and sleeve were like torture implements. At last I was somewhat put together, just in time for the bell to ring as Simon arrived with the carriage. Jacob would likely be with him too for moral support.

I thought to drop my crutch and not bother with the sling. I didn't want to draw too much attention to my wounds, but they would be a bit hard to ignore. I heard the creaking of legs on the stair, then the knock on my door. I hobbled over to the door, but the pain in my hip was too much to bear. I let out a small cry of pain, then I heard Jacob's voice call out, "Grell? Are you all right, brother?"

"I'm just fine," I replied back, though the strain in my voice was a bit hard to cover up.

The knob turned and the door opened. Apparently I forgot to lock the door last night. Silly me. Jacob barged in, I leaned against the wall trying to keep myself upright.

"Good morning," I said as cheerily as I could.

Jacob looked at my body position, likely also noticing how disheveled my clothes were.

"Grell what's wrong," he asked.

He took a firm hold of my left shoulder; I screamed and pulled away from him. Jacob then drew his hand back, a look of scared concern on his face.

"Oh Christ, are you injured?" he asked, motioning for Simon to come in.

Simon entered as Jacob gently took my other arm and lead me to the bed. Simon walked over, gently taking hold of my side and helping me to a sit on the mattress. I sat down, but was soon falling to my back. Oh fuck it, what the hell could I hide?

"What the bloody hell happened?" Jacob said in a bit of a shocked tone.

"Oh nothing, I just took a little tumble from my horse last night; that's all," I said, trying to sound cheery.

The look on Jacob's face was priceless.

"Oh God," Jacob replied, putting a hand to his mouth.

"I took a turn a bit too fast; poor, precious Daisy went headfirst into a hay wagon and I went tumbling after. Don't worry, nothing's broken; well except little Daisy's neck. But the nice doctor I saw popped my shoulder back into place and gave me some magical elixir."

Jacob rolled his eyes and gave a profound sigh. I undid the top buttons of my shirt and gradually exposed my shoulder. He caught one look at the purple pillow that was my shoulder and his eyes widened.

"What doctor did you see?" Jacob asked, I could hear an exasperated tone.

"I believe his name was Dr. Gordon. Some watchman took me to him after coming across the scene."

Jacob paused and looked hard at the wall, then sighed.

"You're not going anywhere until I get an opinion from my physician," he said.

"Brother I'm fine to travel. I'll just take a few drops and go to sleep land during the ride."

"Yes, I trust you to spend the next day in a carriage after a diagnosis by some quaint village doctor who probably can't tell a scratch from a gaping wound. No, you're coming to my house and getting looked at."

I made little protest. Jacob and Simon helped me down the stairs and into the carriage. Simon just went a few painful blocks and it was clear a day of this would be torture. We got to Jacob's townhouse and Simon helped me inside, Jacob's butler Benjamin soon joining us. I was taken to my old quarters upstairs; all the same furnishings and linens were there, though it appeared Jacob was storing a few papers around the room. I was put into bed, Jacob came up and told me his own private physician would be here soon; Simon was on his way to summon him.

I made a few weak pleas that I would in fact be fine to travel, Jacob ignored all of them. He just told me to rest and lie still. He did ask me a few questions about the accident, I answered them; assuring him I paid both the carriage driver and the doctor and I hadn't been in trouble with the law.

"Am I right to guess you had been drinking?" Jacob asked evenly.

"Alas I had," I said with a sigh. "We had been celebrating rather merrily. And yes that celebrating landed me where I am now. I've gotten plenty of lectures."

"I won't give you another one," Jacob said. "I will just remind you your entrance ceremony was scheduled for Wednesday."

"And I'll still make it."

"Only if you are in good enough health to do so," he said. "That all depends on what the doctor says."

"So what bloody happens if I'm not?"

Jacob sighed hard again and rubbed his face.

"If you're not, we'll just delay your entrance until you are. Depending on what Dr. Fields says," he said, sounding none too happy to be saying this. "If you're just a bit bruised we'll send you on your merry way. If it really is something worse I personally would rather you rested until you were better. At the very least I would rather didn't enter school on crutches and falling asleep through class from the laudanum."

"Would Matthew consider that an option? Not that I really care what he thinks, but if he will see this as bad behavior…"

"He will see it how he will, though technically I am your guardian," Jacob said in a pointed tone. "I'm sure he would rather you were in better shape as well. His opinion really doesn't matter."

I nodded, satisfied with this answer.

"I trust you will explain the whole situation," I said.

"I will if it comes to that, as it will be my decision."

I did put Jacob in a rather bad position. He was a grown man, a business leader; he made complicated decisions everyday, what was another?

Dr. Fields came by a few minutes later; alas he was a bit plain looking and much older, not the handsome chap Dr. Gordon was. He examined my wounds with barely a word, asking me about the fall though not giving any commentary on how I got into that mess in the first place. The doctor then dressed me and brought Jacob in. The verdict was essentially the same as the one delivered by Dr. Gordon: my shoulder had been dislocated but was back in place. My hip was badly sprained and my back took a nice jar.

He ruled I really wasn't all that fit to ride in a carriage for at least a few weeks, otherwise it could cause more damage let alone pain in general. At best I should be getting at least a month of bed rest. The final conclusion was I was not healthy enough to go to school yet. I wasn't pleased with the news, yet a small part of me was relieved. That would mean at least another month in London. On the downside that month would involve me staying in bed, likely in Jacob's townhouse. It was only now when I realized how I wanted to get moving; end the anticipation and get to bloody Oxford already. In the end this was my bed, literally and in proverb, and I had to lie in it. I was the one who caused this whole mess through my cowardice, I was the one who had to deal with the consequences.

Dr. Fields bandaged my shoulder and my hip, creating compresses that would hopefully allow everything to heal and ease some pain. He advised me to stay in bed, only getting up out of absolute necessity. He also gave me another bottle of laudanum for when the pain was unbearable. Jacob said he would have Benjamin check on me regularly, if I needed anything I was to ring the bell as I had when I first lived here.

Dr. Fields left. Jacob told me he would send a private messenger to Oxford to notify them of my poor health, including a note from Dr. Fields on my condition.

"I am so sorry, brother," I said. "I fouled this all up grandly."

Jacob shook his head.

"That's why they're called 'accidents,'" he said. "They happen accidentally. Don't worry yourself, just take the good doctor's advice and rest. You should be thanking the good Lord this is the worst of what you got; you're a lucky sod."

"Oh I am, believe me," I replied.

Yes, it was all just an "accident." It was a bloody accident I didn't snuff myself, and yes I was certainly grateful.

Jacob went to the office as scheduled. I asked him to keep this small development quiet, he promised he would do so. I then took a few drops of laudanum with some cider and went out cold for the better part of the day. I woke up a bit and tried to entertain myself; mostly reading. It dawned on me that this would be the routine for the next month, a bit of a horrifying prospect. Then I realized a little quiet time might do me good. I had been rushing around so much in the past few months perhaps some quiet rest was better for my health in general.

This routine continued through the next day. Wednesday morning all I could think about was how I was supposed to be walking down the aisle for my formal entrance ceremony. So the wedding was indeed postponed, the lady was lying in bed with some delicious stew and a nice book; I'm sure she was pleased, though the wedding was hardly off as she recovered.

I expected I would be sick of this bed by Friday, but my body was glad for my confinement. My aches were still active and my injured parts were enjoying the rest. Jacob came up frequently, telling me what was going on around the office and around society. We had some nice conversations, it felt as if this situation were nice and relaxed. I technically wasn't his employee right now, right now his responsibility was my well being and I could only call his hospitality gracious.

By Monday I was sleeping a bit less, though my aches were not easing up all that much. Jacob showed me a letter he had received from Oxford, essentially saying they wished me in better health soon and to contact them when I was more fit to attend school. Naturally this came with a note that if I was out for too long I would be withdrawn, though I planned to be back as soon as I was ruled in better health.

Naturally on Wednesday Benjamin brought up a letter addressed to me from the baron. I guess dearest brother heard the news by now. I ripped it open, wanting to get this mess over with.

_Dearest Grell,_

_Jacob informed me of your misfortune. I am dreadfully sorry for what befell you and I am relieved to hear you are recovering from this ordeal. I do wish you would rest yourself, for you do have a commitment to meet. Take advantage of this time, for in thirty days from the moment I write this letter I expect you to be at Chamberlain College resuming your interrupted plans. I trust you will be adequately healed by then. If not any quarters you have in London will be at the generosity of your brother, as your apartment will be rented to a more worthy tenant. Additionally any allowance arrangements in university will be a bit hindered if you are not there in thirty days time. Please use this as encouragement to truly get some rest and not use this as an excuse to dilly-dally. _

_I give you my sincerest wishes for a swift recovery._

_Sincerely,_

_Matthew_

My what a caring, thoughtful brother he is. I didn't need to share these glad tidings with Jacob, as he apparently received his own copy of this heartfelt letter.

"His concern is that you use this time to indeed heal," Jacob said, though I had a feeling he didn't believe his own rehearsed speech. "This was a rather sudden development, and I'm sure he was more than caught off guard. He doesn't want your progress interrupted."

"Or perhaps he feels I'm making this all up," I said.

"That wouldn't surprise me either."

"Rest assured, I personally would rather be in school right now and not in this bloody bed. This is hardly a holiday for me."

By now I meant it. It had been a week since the accident, I found myself growing more eager to move forward. Before I was dreading school, now I was looking forward to it. Perhaps I was looking more forward to doing something besides lying in bed, but regardless my motivation was there. By the end of that week I was getting even more restless. My wounds were aching a bit less, though still kept me somewhat immobile. I was requesting my lovely elixir to keep me more asleep than awake in this dreadfully dull environment.

The next Monday, Jacob came up to my room saying he had a surprise for me. Who should follow behind him but Colin, George, and Ephraim. My mouth dropped open and my eyes widened. My friends greeted me with gentle embraces, minding my injured shoulder of course. Jacob left me alone with them and they all took chairs. My heart was racing, I was so happy to see them all. I thought I would never see them again, now here they were. It was so bizarre to have a group of men from one life come into a room from another; the benefits of being honest about myself.

Colin told me "Mr. Jacob" dropped by the theater and informed him of "Richard's" misfortune. Colin did tell him such fabricated formalities were not necessary thanks to Father Sutcliff.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that," Colin said.

I could imagine the thoughts through his mind about Elijah and Matthew. I was beyond appreciative that Jacob took this step.

The lads gave me updates on who was cast as who, how far they were into rehearsal. Naturally there were a few recitations of "It's not the same without you." I did tell them I would be going to school in a few weeks, it gave me my own news to share. We recited a few lines, shared some blocking ideas for the new play, then my fellows left with handshakes and embraces. I missed them the moment they left the room; I never liked long goodbyes and here I had been given a rather long one.

I heartily thanked Jacob for bringing them here. He did make some comment about Elijah's visit, I only confirmed the story. I didn't really want to talk about it too much and he left the matter alone.

By the end of the week I was trying to get up from bed a bit more. My hip was less swollen but still far from healed, I could still walk around a little with my crutch. Jacob still insisted I rest myself; I would heal better in the next few weeks if I did so. I started insisting I didn't need a few weeks. Jacob was not convinced, but I still pressed. By now I wanted to go to school, I wanted to put this rubbish behind me. After a few days Jacob was starting to give a little.

Dr. Fields insisted that I still needed another month of rest, calling Matthew's demands utter bollocks. I insisted all I needed to do was be able to walk a bit between classes and sit down for lectures. I wasn't planning on going out for any sports, I just wanted to go to school. I knew this could spell bad news for the my involvement in the Chamberlain Players, but my priority was more getting out of here. By now my situation humiliated me more and more; the constant reminder that this whole mess was the result of a conscious act. The doctor grudgingly said I should rest for another week, then he would declare me fit for the essentials but nothing more.

I kept to his orders without question, though moved a bit to keep from getting too stiff. Jacob tried to talk me out of this, saying he would speak to Matthew about the importance of my recuperation. I insisted, showing him I could easily go across the hallway with a crutch. After a few days Jacob told me he was going to send a letter to the school saying I would soon be fit to attend. He asked again if I was sure about this, I told him to send the bloody letter already. A few days later we received a letter from Oxford; my entrance ceremony was scheduled for the 30 of September, just over a week away.

I spend that time mixing rest with light movement. I managed to sit for decent periods of time and walk a small ways. I found I could also write with my dominant hand with a bit of positioning. I would be going to school a bandaged mess, but at least I would have a few stories. And thus the trip was rescheduled to Sunday, thus I had a few more days to say my formal goodbyes to London. I was much more prepared to do so now than I was a month ago, in fact I was practically willing to run out of here; aches and all.

Jacob had a special dinner served in honor of my departure, I actually sat with him in the dining room (after much effort coming down the stairs). We toasted to my future, to uninterrupted prosperity, to a second chance. I toasted to his kindness and fine hospitality, a toast that was most sincere. I had a different impression of my brother now, this past month in his care gave me a much more favorable opinion of him. He had gone out of his way to ensure my comfort and happiness, even going to the theater and bringing my friends into his little sanctuary. There were so many ways I could explain how his actions were less altruistic than appearances, but I was done with conspiracies. Who gave a damn about the motives, the end results were all I cared about.

I took some more elixir and slept like the dead that night. I was somewhat groggy the next morning, but coherent enough to get up and get on with this. Jacob had a lovely breakfast served, then told me Simon had just gone to my apartment to start loading my effects. This was starting to become a bit real, though I was still a little too sleepy to dwell on it. After breakfast, Simon returned; the carriage was all ready for my departure. I got into some decent clothes, a bit easier than the first time I readied myself for this journey.

I hobbled out to the street, I believe this was the first time I had gone outside since arriving here. Benjamin assembled a nice variety of soft pillows and blankets in the carriage to keep my ride nicely cushioned. I knew I was ready to get this over with; all apprehension was gone now.

"Good luck in your endeavors, brother," Jacob said, lightly embracing me.

"I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality," I replied.

"You can repay that by doing well in school, and making sure you heal," he said pulling back.

"You have my word."

We shook hands, then Benjamin helped me into the carriage. I found a nice comfortable position, then signaled I was ready to leave. The carriage pulled away from the curb, I waved goodbye to Jacob. For a moment I believed I might truly miss him. At last we were in the streets and I was officially leaving London. I tried not to give into too much sentiment, but I still stared at that window and watched as everything passed by. I would return here, that was a given. I still had an apartment here and likely a job, though I would rather think on the former than the latter.

At last we passed from the city, looking back would have twisted me injuries a bit too much. Instead I kept looking forward; how appropriate. Simon was taking it easy on the roads and I was practically swaddled in cushions. Still the journey was more than a bit uncomfortable, any shaking or jerking would send waves of pain through my hip. At last I got out my bottle and took a few drops. The stuff tasted awful, but I was growing accustomed to it. After a few minutes I was fast asleep, not caring how rough or smooth the roads were.

I woke up a bit to recognize we were in more pastoral surroundings. I recall seeing the sign for Stokenchurch and knew we were halfway there. I tried reading but my head was too fuzzy. I ended up going back to sleep, then woke to hear Simon announcing we were close to Oxford. Well that trip wasn't all that awful after all. I made sure to keep myself awake to reenter the city. It felt like a victory to see those spires and medieval halls; at last I was here. After months of whining and dread, after one interrupted trip due to me almost dying I was finally in Oxford.

Chamberlain College was a bit closer to the center of town. I watched all these young men with books and satchels in their hands passing back and forth. We reached the building, Simon helped me out of the carriage. I insisted on walking on my own, though Simon did help me over a few steps. I went inside to this gorgeous building of modest medieval design; my new home for who knows how long.

Eventually I met with the higher-ups; signed papers, worked out my room arrangements, gave ample explanations why I had not matriculated last month. I believe the sling and crutch explained everything. I also had a few doctor's notes to conform the whole story, all the big men were satisfied. At last I was given the key to my room and the approval to move on in. That task would be for Simon. He brought in all my effects I sat by in a chair by the door and instructed him on where he should put everything. I would get a better chance to settle in when this matter was taken care of. I was happy with my quarters; my room was slightly smaller than the one I had at King's Crest, but still very comfortable.

As I gave directions, a few lads passed by me the paused. I made eye contact with them then rose from my seat, leaning on my crutch. This drew a few more looks, I was almost flattered to be such a spectacle right now. I offered my good hand and introduced myself, saying I was a new student. They were pleasant boys, asking if my man was doing a good job. I assured them he was; I was thankful because of my predicament. The lads politely asked how I ended up all bandaged up.

"Oh I just flew off my horse, that is all," I replied.

Well this certainly drew their attention. We ended up conversing a bit, turns out both of them were a bit high in rank themselves. I did recognize the names of their families from some hobnobbing in London, hence more conversations started. By the time Simon was done, I simply tipped him for his kindness and sent him on his merry way. The boys, Lord Alvin Messer and Mr. David Denton, invited me to the dining hall to meet a few more of their friends; asking if I was too exhausted from my journey. Of course I wasn't, I hobbled along beside them to the dining hall; they politely slowed their paces so I could follow along.

It turned into a lovely few hours of meeting new students, conversing, sharing stories. It reminded me of the first day I attended King's Crest as a young boy; I fell right in with the crowd. Most of my new acquaintances came from some prestige, not too many were of peerage but most were from society. I remember meeting a few of these lads during parties and certainly my name was familiar to a few of them. My injuries did draw a bit more attention and I was more than willing to share the story; not in a whining, pathetic way of course, more like an adventurous telling.

I was exhausted, I was aching, but I didn't care. I was having a bit too much fun with these new mates. I finally retired to my own quarters late in the evening. The next day I endeavored to get a bit more unpacked, instead I ended up at breakfast with some new friends, then met with my advisor to choose some classes. I eventually did do more unpacking, finding the gorgeous red dress I brought with me. I almost forgot about it; the last time I wore this was that fateful day a month ago. I kept it in the trunk, putting a few more effects on top of it and keeping it under my bed.

My new friends recommended some clubs and activities. A few would mention some sports, but would hastily say "after you've healed of course." I gently inquired about the Chamberlain Players.

"Oh that bunch," one boy, Stephen I believe his name was, said. "You'd be better off steering clear of them. All of them are so joyless; all they do is read and analyze every bit of those plays. They can't enjoy them, they have to pick them apart."

Well that was a disappointment, though not a surprise. Colin did say that group was more about scholarly recitations than actual theater. I did endeavor to investigate at a better time. In the meantime I enjoyed a few chats and some glasses with my new friends. I forced myself to get to bed late Tuesday night; my entrance ceremony was the next morning.

Getting to bed was a much easier task in theory than it was in practice. My body was not exactly pleased with me for a day of walking around and even remaining upright. Up until a few days ago I had been confined to bed for a month. Now I was moving and my wounds were hardly used to that. I was constantly waking up and looking at my watch. At last I took a drop of elixir, enough to put me to sleep and wake in time for the ceremony. I ended up waking in a haze, my mind registering the clock and seeing I had half an hour until my ceremony. I dressed as properly as I could, then hobbled out of my room to the main hall.

I felt I was floating on a cloud, my wavy vision and turning stomach was hardly helping. I passed by a few friends in the hallway, only giving a few nods and trying to understand what they were saying. My meandering path lead to the main hall where I was given my robes and filed into line with about ten other boys. I pleasantly chatted with them, though tried to limit my pratter. I was still in a fog and trying to present myself properly lest it was obvious how much in a stupor I was.

I followed all the directions during the ceremony; following everyone's lead and trying not to fall asleep during a few speeches. Eventually I recognized my name and went up as called. I followed the motions I had seen for the past few boys ahead of me, receiving my ribbons and handshakes from the higher ups; a polite (or rather goofy) smile on my face. At last it was over, I filed out with the rest of the boys and walked toward my room. I managed to put the key in the lock with a bit of difficulty, though I finally opened my door, stumbled over to my bed, and fell on the plush comforter.

I slowly awoke, registering the sound of a few giggles and a bit of chatter. I thought it was part of a dream at first, then I realized it was actually happening. I found myself lying on my stomach, with a bit of effort I rolled over. My doorway was wide open, a few faces peering into the room. It took me a moment to understand what was happening, then it dawned on me all at once. I must have left my door open when I came in, I looked down and saw I was still clad in my gown. And all this was still being watched by my new housemates. I let out a groan and looked at the other students, they just snickered a bit more.

"No one tried to bugger me did they?" I said.

The audience members laughed rather loudly and clapped. One answered my question "no, you're lucky." I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"Oh drat," I said.

The boys were practically pissing themselves in laughter.

Some of those same lads invited me for drinks later. I had just been here for two days and I was already making an impression.


	41. Part 41

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 41**

Amid all the socializing I was doing, my true purpose for being here started the day after my ceremony. My first class was a general course on the History of Ancient Civilizations comfortably located on the other side of the building and a few floors up from my room. I gave myself ample time to get there and arrived a few minutes early. My hip and back were already protesting, now I would have to take a seat in a hard chair for another hour or so. Oh joy. I did manage to find a seat by the side where I could position myself and stay comfortable. The instructor took a few looks at me as I eased myself in, then went back to preparing his lesson.

Class wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, by now I was starting to ignore the aching. I was in a bit of an awkward academic position; this particular class started a month ago and I was coming in somewhat late. I was able to keep up with the lesson on Mesopotamia, even contributed a few points the professor called "very enlightening." By the end of class I was ready for more of these. I had a bit of a full class load, including some extras to help me keep up with the month I missed. The whole day was one session after another of sitting, trying to keep from aching, and following along studiously with the lessons.

It was so bizarre in general to be back in classes. There was a small air of reminiscence from King's Crest, but I found these instructions infinitely more enlightening. These weren't a bunch of lofty instructors licking the arses of a bunch of noble brats, these were true scholars imparting their knowledge to serious students. I was in classes with a few people my age right through their twenties, even a few with gray hair and wrinkled faces.

I did ask my literature professor about the Chamberlain Society. He very kindly explained the organization: they were a collective of students who did put on a production a semester, though with no backdrops and limited costumes. When they weren't doing rehearsals or productions, they were holding roundtable discussions on various topics in Shakespeare's plays.

"You will want to speak to Professor Smithson about that group, he is their advisor," my instructor said. "Alas I do believe they have already filled their parts for this semester. They also seem to be more oriented to older students, but I am sure you could inquire about ways you could contribute."

I thanked him for his wonderful information and endeavored to speak to Professor Smithson. I found my target in his office later in the day; a short man with beady eyes underneath thick spectacles, wearing a curly wig that was bigger than his head. He seemed a bit annoyed when opening the door. I politely asked him about the Chamberlain Society, saying I was aware they already filled their parts and their orientation to older students. He gave me this annoying little smirk.

"The Chamberlain Society is an old tradition in this school for serious scholars of William Shakespeare, those with a great understanding of his contributions to literature," he said.

"I would consider myself one of those," I said.

"A rudimentary understanding yes, I believe you said you have been a student in this institution for all of a few days. May I ask how old you are?"

What the fuck did that have to do with anything?

"I am 17, sir," I said. "18 in just a few months."

His annoying smirk grew a bit wider.

"You are certainly welcome to attend our meetings, however I believe you would have a difficult time following along until you have grown a bit older and more versed in Shakespeare's language," he said. "If you entered at such a tender age, I am afraid you might be a bit lost."

Oh how I wanted to introduce my crutch to his groin. What a condescending tit.

"With all due respect, sir, I am quite versed in Shakespeare's language. I have also performed his works professionally," I said as politely as I was capable.

"There is a difference between truly understanding the art of his verse and memorizing lines to make a bit of extra money," he replied.

I wanted the next words out of his mouth to be a scream, but I held still. I was tempted to tell him I was the brother of a baron and did not have any issues with money. I could chastise him for speaking out of place to a man of peerage, though how the hell did I know he wasn't ranked higher than I was? I personally abhorred pulling rank anyway. All my snippings would do was piss him off even more.

I politely thanked him for his information, though with gritted teeth. He simply recommended I take his next class, though at the very least "I am sure you will be of a better academic understanding in a year or so." I still wanted to bean him over the head, instead I walked away and proceeded to my next class, feeling my blood coming to a rolling boil.

I couldn't wait to see my friends later that night; especially Stephen, the one who told me how delightful that group was in the first place. I was rather openly sharing the story in a lounge later that night and speaking rather openly about my opinions of this toss-off and his bloody organization.

"I told you they were prats," Stephen said. "Be thankful you just dealt with their headmaster and not the rest of those gits. I have and believe me they're completely intolerable."

I was noticing the chuckles I was getting from my mates every time I found another colorful label for the subject of my tirade. I was aware they could go right to the individual in question and share my opinions, but they said they disliked the wanker as well; some sharing a few stories from his class. Part of my own tirade would have included how I had been an actor, but I managed to leave that part out of the conversation. I was still somewhat concerned the fuss would turn against me for acting in some third-rate hole, or even acting in general; perhaps that was considered peasant's work.

There was a tiny concern I was also in the presence of a few society men who could have spread the word about how lewd and inelegant I was. I realized I honestly didn't give a fuck; I didn't have brothers around telling me to mind my manners lest it impact my reputation. I didn't give a bloody, screaming fuck about my reputation at all. I loved speaking freely, it felt good to be honest for a change. It was a practice I took through the rest of the conversation. By now all of us has a few glasses and were letting go of propriety. I just opened my mouth and contributed my peace, the riotous laughs I was getting just encouraged me even more.

Alas the Chamberlain Players seemed to be a bit of an unwelcoming prospect, my opportunity to continue acting in university was indefinitely on hold. Was I disappointed at this turn? I had to ask myself that a few times as I settled in for the evening. I was on a minor level, but then I realized I hadn't been looking much forward to joining that group. It wasn't Mersey Hall, it wasn't my friends, it sure as hell wasn't Drury Lane; no big productions and fancy costumes here. I knew nothing this place could offer would ever compare to what I had in London. The thought certainly crossed my mind to be a boil on the arse of Professor Smithson, attend their meetings anyway and show how much "rudimentary" knowledge I had; but why bother? I wanted a place to express my passions to the fullest, I could never do that with a bunch of stuffy academics.

The next morning a few more lads were asking me to sit at their table during breakfast and recommending some nicer organizations than the Chamberlain Players. Here I was concerned that conversation would have me socially ostracized; instead it made me a bit more popular. I was more than pleased with this development.

I listened to their suggestions, though I was content to let the matter be for a while. I decided to simply settle in, get used to the routine of classes and casual recreation. I would likely spend at least five years in this place, it was best if I used my first semester to establish myself. Plus there was my health to consider, I did need to be a bit gentler on my wounds than I had been. I had learned that the tiniest drop of elixir would take care of my pains and keep me from falling completely asleep. I found after taking this much I could remain lucid if not somewhat woozy. I was still able to concentrate in class and take notes, though I had to pull my attention forward and not let it wander off.

I did start inviting my new friends for small gatherings in my room; this way I could stay in one place in a comfortable chair and not strain myself to move all over the building. The boys would bring a few bottles of wine and rum, occasionally gin. We would sit around just pattering, getting nice and relaxed. This did have an air of our gatherings at King's Crest, though I was in the presence of much older and more mature lads. There was no politicking, there was no melodrama, everything was cordial.

By the weekend I had relaxed so much with these fellows I wasn't concerned at all with appearances. We gathered on Saturday night, one of my mates asked me about my broken teeth.

"Oh that was another fall from a horse," I said, getting laughs all around. "I swear the buggers have it in for me."

At I touched my front teeth with my right finger, another grabbed my wrist and pointed out the nasty scar down my hand.

"Did a horse do that to you too?" the lad, Henry, said with a snicker.

"No actually I did that to myself," I said plainly, savoring the chuckles of amazement around the room. "I think I was trying to cut an apple, or an invisible one. If I ever get drunk, make sure there are no sharp objects around."

The laughs just got a little louder. They probably thought I was bloody mental; I liked that idea. I then pointed to the small scar on my forehead.

"At least this one was smaller," I said.

A few of the boys leaned in with more chuckles. A few rounds of "just how many do you bloody have?" Another asked if that was another horse.

"No it was an ass, of the human kind I'll add," I replied. "Got that one in a fight. Got this too."

I opened my mouth and pointed to my missing back tooth. The looks of disturbed awe I received were glorious.

"You're a real man of danger, Sutcliff," Henry said.

"Not really, I've just been a bit unlucky," I replied raising my glass.

From that night on I seemed to become a bit more popular. My initial circle was introducing me to their mates and a few more guys were coming up to me going "You're the chav with the scars right?" I was simply savoring the attention, this encouraged me to drop the pretenses even more. If someone said something rather foolish, I was ribbing them to the heavens.

I had no problems with getting a little closer than propriety, though in a friendly way of course; sitting close, leaning into faces, and occasionally wrapping my arm around shoulders. I wasn't going to chance getting too friendly or chatting up anyone until I had long enough to suss out any potential buggerantos in our midst. Then again I wasn't interested in getting into any more sordid scandals and politics among sodomite schoolboys. None of that ended well for me at King's Crest and I would rather history did not repeat itself.

Overall it was the rebirth of "The Mad Ginger." I wasn't giving myself that title out loud, but I was happy to reclaim it quietly in this new environment. After the second week I was fully appreciating not being around relatives or stuffy nobles. There were plenty of stodgy characters here, but just as many fun boys.

There was some light hazing. I had been there about three weeks when I was "appointed" by some older students to carry a few books with this little paper hat on my head. I then pricked my finger with a pen knife out of sight and decorated the edges red. No one really noticed the decorations. I did hand the hat back to my greeting committee, enjoying the way their smiles dropped a little at the sight of my handiwork. I was generally left alone by the cheeky boys after that.

As time passed I was noticing my wounds were aching less and less. I still took my elixir before bed to ensure sleep, but was taking less of it during the day. I was slowly trying to wean myself off my crutch, taking a few more steps around freely. My hip was dreadfully stiff, but I was barely in any pain. Finally I decided to go without it for one day. I was aching by the end of the day, but not horribly. I stopped using it after that; a triumph my fellows and I celebrated with a few toasts. My shoulder wasn't as swollen, but it was still a bit painful. Regardless I could deal with having one arm in lesser shape than one leg; at least it was easier to move this way.

By the end of that week the boys were finally dragging me out to the pubs. I had been a bit laid up inside before, now I could finally get a more proper opportunity to explore Oxford and its brew houses. A group of us, maybe seven or eight of us, went out on Friday night. The city was overrun by students, you could tell who the natives were; mostly people in the plainest of clothes. They were in a striking minority compared to the roaming lads hopping from one pub and coffeehouse to another. I celebrated this first venture sampling whatever I could, taking suggestions and expanding my palate from there. I got nicely soused as did the rest of the boys with me. Eventually we stumbled back to Chamberlain singing loudly through the streets.

I woke in my room the next morning with a screaming headache, gradually realizing I was still clothed. Thankfully it was Saturday so I could still recover in quiet. Everything was aching; my head, my shoulder, my hip, everything has been pressed to the limit last night. A tiny voice vowed I would never do that to myself again, but I knew it was a fleeting thought. I would meet with my mates for breakfast later, all of us groggy and finding creative descriptions for our respective hangovers. Naturally that night we were back at it again. Sunday night we did homework and behaved ourselves to be bright and ready for class on Monday.

It was only when someone mentioned services and revels for All Saint's Day that I realized my birthday was but a week away, my 18th birthday to be precise. Somehow 18 was still considered a greater age of adulthood, a formality in my case considering how much I had already accomplished before then. I did casually slip the word to my mates about the occasion, getting a promise for a night of celebration. Throughout the week some of the guys tried to pep me into more excitement for the occasion, still I was a bit calm about the whole thing.

The morning of my birthday, I received a knock on the door as I was getting dressed. I opened the door to see a uniformed messenger with a little package, saying it was from Jacob. I tipped him for his troubles then went back in my room to open it. Inside was a rather nice dark wood jewelry box with three wide drawers; perfect for brooches, rings, fineries of any kind. The top drawer contained a thin wooden box, inside of which was a fine gold watch; a floral pattern engraved on the front cover, my initials inside, the numbers of the watch face wreathed in painted red flowers.

Underneath the box was an envelope, I pulled out a letter and then a check made out for £10. Jacob wrote me his well wishes for my birthday in the letter, saying he wanted to make sure I had his gift right on the day itself. There were the usual questions: how was I enjoying school, was I healing well, had I made many friends, how intelligent was I after just a month. He said he did want to hold a belated birthday party during the holidays. It was clear he assumed I would return London for the Christmas holiday instead of just staying where I was. As much as I missed London, the thought of going back for a family Christmas or even another disastrous New Year's party held little appeal.

I had a short break between classes and decided to write back to him, answering his questions with as much wit as I could muster. I told him I had been healing, I was now walking on my own power. I told him about how I had been making friends though I didn't give any names. I gave a rather noncommittal answer to his party comment, saying such details could be negotiated as we drew closer to Christmas. I did give him ample thanks for the generous gifts. As I sealed the letter, I was reminded I owed Elijah a letter as well not to mention an update for dearest Pierre. I would take care of those later. I brought the envelope to the letter office and went about my day.

As promised, a group of my friends brought me to a nice inn later that evening for a lovely dinner and sampling some local brews, all my drinks and food were on them tonight. We hopped from pub to pub, toasting my 18th birthday at each stop on our tour. I was so giddy that night, it was such a lovely birthday.

Alas I would wake up the next morning with the usual aches, this time I actually had to be in class that morning. I woke and looked at the clock: class started three minutes ago. I hastily dressed, completely forgetting my sling, and practically ran to my geometry class. I ended up arriving fifteen minutes late. The professor glared at me when I walked in but said nothing, the rest of the class just eyed me before going back to their books. I barely kept up with class, everything was aching. At the end the professor pulled me aside and gave me a stern lecture about his lack of tolerance for tardiness. I simply promised it wouldn't happen again and was sent on my merry way with a few lingering huffs.

I ended up spending the next few classes without my sling. I kept my arm in a position on the desk to not aggravate my shoulder, but I realized I was hardly missing the sling. I kept it off for the rest of the day. Instead I made sure I wrapped my shoulder to keep it compressed to docility, I also took another half a drop with some wine and was nice and mellow for the next few hours. At lunch my fellows noticed the sling was gone, one making a comment about how the Oxford lagers must have cured me like holy water.

By the evening I was aching a bit, but it was enough to manage compared to the inconvenience. I kept it off from that point on. I would occasionally put it on at night when my shoulder was really giving me grief, though just for a few hours of relief. It was so nice to finally be able to walk these halls looking like an upright student and not some bandaged cripple. I should have been visiting the school doctor for a more formal assessment of my healing. I wasn't in the mood to tell the tale to another person, plus I would probably be told I still needed to be in bed rather than in class. Sod it; if any of my limbs fell off, I would certainly get a medical opinion. Dr. Fields could look at me all he wanted to during the holidays.

I did eventually decide I would return to London for Christmas, but only that. I would return for some parties, especially whatever Jacob had in mind for my 18th birthday celebration. I would try to be back in Oxford after Boxing Day and spend New Year's with some more agreeable people. As much as I enjoyed the death, intrigue, and randy noblemen of the Phantomhive party, the thought of replaying it held little appeal. I had spent the past two months away from any family influence and noble preening. I also feared the most fleeting visit with my friends at Mersey Hall (a group of people who truly understood Shakespeare and could give Professor Smithson some education) would make me more homesick than happy. I had little interest in going back in general, though perhaps it was best if I paid some dues.

I eventually did write that letter to Elijah. I told him he did me a favor; hiding my true self from my fellows was only creating a great burden for me. I told him they truly accepted me for who I was, even visited me in Jacob's townhouse after I was injured. I gave him some tiny updates; what classes I was taking, how many fiends I had made, telling him I was truly happy settling into school.

I wrote to Pierre as well, imparting him some of the same information, though with a few more endearments. I said we should see each other again: "It has been a year since we met, since I enjoyed your presence last. I vow we will meet each other again, whether I myself return to lovely Paris or you find yourself on my shores." I sent out both letters, pleased to satisfy some outside connections though happier to return to my present existence.

By the middle of November, talk was turning to choosing classes for the next semester. I had taken general courses this semester to get my academic feet wet, next semester I decided I wanted to take some fun classes. Technically I was still in the basic education path, I wouldn't have to declare a major for another year or so. I was sure Jacob and Matthew wanted me to build up as many engineering and mathematics classes as I could, but they weren't here and I was. I was asking around about a few music courses; my shoulder should be fully healed by the time classes started so I could use my violin again.

A small group of us were conversing about this topic in the common room one evening, the seven of us around one couch and a few chairs with about twenty other students loitering around the wide room and doing their own business. I was the only fresher, though the rest of my mates had been there only a year or two and only a couple had chosen majors already. There was ample talk of various classes with a few mentions of what would help us when we did declare a major.

Lord Alvin made some offhand crack about how I should choose Professor Smithson's literature class.

"Perhaps that would keep you from being a Shakespeare illiterate cretin," he said with an exaggerated pompous air.

All of us got a good laugh from this. I rolled my eyes and groaned, dramatically covering my face with my hand.

"I'll take his class if he's teaching cricket then show him my throwing skills upside his head," I replied.

This got a few dirty chuckles laughs with a few ooh's thrown in. Talk turned back to my rather unpleasant encounter. Someone asked me why the hell I wanted to get in with that group in the first place. Naturally I shared my love for Shakespeare, I then recalled I had never told any of them of my acting. I was caring about reputation less and less, besides I knew these lads long enough not to care how they reacted.

I mentioned a bit modestly that I had been in a few productions, this rose a few eyebrows and prompted a few polite questions as to where.

"In London," I finally said. "In a little playhouse as far from Drury Lane as one can get, but still a very nice place; a most lovely group of people, very close friends of mine. Technically I did it as a hobby, a diversion you could say from the family business and societal elbow rubbing; but it meant so much more to me than that."

My fellows were actually impressed with these details; they asked me a few more questions about how many plays I had been in, how difficult the lines truly were, they were making comments about how bloody brave I was to get in front of people like that. Some suggested I could become a famous actor, others said at the very least it was a way to practice my oratory. I was most encouraged by these reactions. I did reveal my stage name, it didn't ring the proverbial bell with any of them but that was a minor detail. Through this I was able to share more of the conversation I had with Professor Smithson, including the comment about "memorizing lines to make a bit of extra money." Alvin was practically sputtering after this: "He bloody said that to a man of the gentry?"

After a few more words on the subject, David called for me to say some lines; even taking two shillings from his pocket and offering them to me for a demonstration of my skills. I was in high spirits already, so I practically leapt from my seat and took a stance in front of them. The fact I was in a busy hall only encouraged me further; how many eyes could I have on me by the end of this? I took a moment to center myself, thinking on the best soliloquy for this occasion. A few called for "Hamlet" with a few joking "To be, or not to be" thrown in, hands holding apples like Yorrick's skull. That had been my most recent play, but I thought on a much lighter speech; one I had done almost a year ago, but still greatly enjoyed.

I took a breath then took my stance, my fellows quieted down in anticipation.

"O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you," I started, snapping into Mercutio's character.

I went into the speech as I had so many nights, remembering my old blocking and direction yet playing off this small circle of people. I was walking around the group, turning my attention to each of them while delivering my lines. In my peripheral vision I could see eyes turning in my direction around the room. I played it up even more, my tone getting a bit louder but hardly the screaming delivery I would give onstage.

I fell to my knees, arms out to deliver the final "This is she." I stopped, applause went up through the hall. I sprang back to my feet in one motion (my hip groaning at me for the action) then bowed; seeing lads from other tables clapping with a few whistles before the clamor died down and everyone back to their respective businesses. I claimed my two shillings from David, jokingly kissing his hand after taking the coins. My own fellows amply praised my performance, a few repetitions of "See what they're missing" and "Yes, that must be a pure lack of understanding of Shakespeare's holy verse."

For the rest of the week a few guys I had not formally met before approached me and complimented my impromptu performance, some just pointed going "There's the master thespian." I would simply bow a little as I walked forward.

We were going into the last week of November when a gentleman said my name in the hallway as he passed by. I stopped, seeing a tall gentleman with light brown hair pulled in a messy ponytail stop as well and walk beside me.

"I believe your name is Mr. Sutcliff, am I correct?" he said.

"It is indeed," I said, steering our direction to the side of the hallway away from the heavy traffic of midday. "Grell Sutcliff to be exact."

I put out my hand politely and he shook it.

"Alan Fairfield," he replied. "You likely do not remember me; there were quite a few people in the hall when you gave that rather memorable performance of Mercutio's 'Queen Mab' soliloquy."

"Oh you were an audience member," I chuckled back.

"Indeed I was, and a captive audience member at that," he said. "I must say that was a most impressive delivery, very fearless and very expressive though still ordered."

"Many thanks. I was in a bit of a good mood that night."

"I do hope you took that same approach when performing in London. Few actors take that approach, even with Mercutio; who is a character who begs freedom of creative choice,"

My face grew slightly hot, apparently he had overheard that part of the conversation. It was likely he heard the rest of that conversation too, including the unflattering bits. Now my guard was slightly raised.

"Oh I certainly did; Mercutio is a lively character who begs a lively performance," I said.

"And I assume you overheard my conversation."

"I confess I did," he said with a guilty chuckle. "I also confess I have heard the name Richard Morris before. I'm sorry to say I have not seen any of your shows, but there have been quite a few reviews."

"Brilliant. I do know there was a review in the Times for when my company did 'The Taming if the Shrew.'"

"I did find that one, though some of the smaller papers have had rather glowing reviews of your performance as 'Hamlet.'"

My hackles were lowering slightly, this fellow seemed pretty decent.

"You truly keep up with theater, Mr. Fairfield, I am most impressed."

"Shakespeare is rather undervalued these days in a popular sense, it is rare to find someone who actually cares about his words let alone someone who is as well-versed in it as you are, especially at such a young age. I do agree Professor Smithson made a bit of a hasty judgment in your case."

I tried to keep from grinning from ear to ear. Not only had he heard the unflattering part of the conversation he was agreeing with me.

"Though you have to understand our company does prefer older members for a variety of reasons," he continued.

I tried to keep my smile from collapsing.

"You are a member of the Chamberlain Society?" I asked, trying not to sound completely gobsmacked.

"I am indeed, I'm the president of the society to be exact," he said, this little dung-eating smirk on his face. "Alas I do have to hurry along right now. We should meet later for a chat and I can explain much more about our reasoning. This will come with encouragements for you to audition next semester, though I do recommend in the meantime you keep you opinions a bit quieter lest you squander that opportunity."

I was numb at this point. I simply smiled and nodded.

"Let's meet at Thurston's Coffee House, are you available earlier this evening?" he asked.

"I certainly am, let's meet at 5," I said, pulling my voice back into my throat.

"Jolly good, I shall see you there," he said, shaking my hand again, then walking off. "Cheers."

He walked into the crowd, I just stood there like an idiot; wondering exactly what the hell just happened.


	42. Part 42

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Author's note: There is a scene of violence against a woman in this chapter some people might find disturbing. This scene is meant to be unsettling and done for plot and character purposes.

**Part 42**

My last class got out around 4:30, giving me plenty of time to freshen up a bit then walk a few blocks from the school to Thurston's Coffeehouse. I was there at 5 o'clock on the dot, I didn't care if I was fashionably early or fashionably late. Mr. Fairfield decided to be fashionably late. I found a nice table by the corner and had a pot of coffee ready for the both of us. I patiently waited whilst watching a few other students and teachers pass by.

Alan arrived about ten minutes after I got there; he was a bit apologetic, saying he had some last minute debate with one of his professors. I did find his demeanor most polite, though with a bit of a light heart. He was all smiles, though I still did not know if I was walking into a glowing recruitment based on my acting skills or a stiff chastisement for speaking so ill of his organization and his mentor. I kept a friendly comportment myself, this was a business meeting after all.

He didn't waste any time with idle chit-chat and got right to the main issue; the apparent policy of his organization to discourage much younger students from participating.

"Unfortunately it is a matter that has become a bit more rigid over the past few years," he said. "Our organization has become a bit known by the theatrically inclined around London, but it is still a bit of a mystery to more people. It is rare anyone will say our group was the main reason they applied for Chamberlain, unlike more well known organizations; the choir or the cricket team for a few examples. Thus few younger students express interest in the organization; usually it is older buggers like me who have seen a few plays or heard a few whispers in class. This has afforded us to be a bit more selective under the assumption we are the kings of our own castle.

"Before my time here I understood we took in more younger students, including a few closer to your age. Alas in the past four years I have been here the interest by younger students has been for shallower purposes than the true appreciation of Shakespeare. Some want to join to impress someone back home, or they want to impress a particular instructor of a class they are either failing or excelling in to their own hubris. Some think involvement will make them celebrities; train them for lives onstage as they use the prestige of our organization to inflate their egos. Then there are those who take a sincere interest in Shakespeare's verse, yet their understanding is so naïve and rudimentary. Though many of these types do not come to learn and expand upon their understanding, they do so to sound intelligent and think their points will impress us somehow. There are those who are so adamant about their own personal interests and interpretations they will not only ignore any of our opinions, they will try to force us into their narrow line of thinking. It was after we had enough of these clods that the informal policy became we would no longer admit anyone under the age of twenty. Yes even older men can be so prideful and boastful, though alas it was the younger ones with which we were having the most difficulty."

I nodded in understanding, it did make sense.

"I see then Professor Smithson was merely protecting the integrity of his organization when he spoke to me so," I said, pouring myself a new cup.

"I do apologize on his behalf," Alan said. "He is a most intelligent individual with a true dedication to this country's literature, though he is a bit of an old relic who can regard students like a gargoyle regards passing peasants."

I allowed myself a snicker at this description. I was happy he was seeing what I did, though I had less kindly words for the man in question.

"He regards everyone based on age, wit, and knowledge," Alan continued. "Unless you're the king or queen, title and rank mean nothing to him."

"In truth they mean little to me as well," I snapped back in a polite tone but a bit more abruptly than I intended. Perhaps I was getting a bit defensive.

Alan simply nodded in response.

"Though I understand he was not polite to you regardless, that can rankle anyone," he said. "However he does greatly respect me, I consider him a friend on several levels and he does trust my judgment."

"I'm assuming this judgment relates to how you think I should audition next semester, or am I speaking too presumptuously?" I said.

"It is indeed," he replied, stirring some sugar into his coffee. "As I said earlier, I am already familiar with your stage name and have heard some encouraging reviews. I was also most impressed with your performance in the common room, even if it was an impromptu presentation for friends. I am encouraging you to audition and I will give a good word to Professor Smithson and my fellows on your promise. However if you do choose to join us, expect to face some rather tough critics who will scrutinize every word and action."

"Younger students do have an ill reputation in your fine company, after all," I said, raising my cup in his direction with an understanding nod. "I must do my best to prove myself the exception to the rule."

"Precisely and you will not be in for an easy time. These fellows are polite and respectful even if they can be a bit difficult."

I saw the potential for a challenge, one that seemed a bit more to my liking under the new circumstances. I had to learn to make a reputation for myself after all. I had already won over quite a few tough characters in society. This would only give me the opportunity to practice my charm and my negotiating skills, especially without any family members present to try to give me a head start. I was unknown here, it was my responsibility to make my own reputation.

"I consider this a challenge I am willing to accept," I said with a smile.

"I am gad to hear it. I must also make it clear you are not guaranteed any roles. You will be lucky if you get cast as someone's servant who is onstage for five minutes. However such is how one works himself up in this company."

"And I would rather work my way up through effort and proving my skills than by some phantom entitlement."

As much as I spoke of humility, I was aware I bore a bit of hubris myself. I had been fortunate to achieve some large roles in Mersey Hall, though I only had to remember my reaction to losing the role of Petruchio to remind myself of this fault. The thought of entering a company no higher than a rope puller was not appealing. However if I ever did consider the prospect of acting with other companies I would have to prove myself in such a manner. I found this thought pleasantly different, perhaps liberating; could I have a career as a professional actor? Perhaps it was something I could keep in mind, perhaps use the lessons I learned in the Chamberlain Society to my advantage.

We parted with the agreement that I would audition for the society next semester and Alan would speak well of me. Naturally this came with the request I keep our conversation quiet. He understood my offense and frustration that lead to my ranting to my fellows, though he wanted to make sure I was not such a gossip that I would damage the company's reputation. I gave him my word and had every intention of keeping it, for the time being at least. I was willing to give these fellows the benefit of the doubt.

"I am only having this conversation with you because I believe you have much promise for our company," Alan said. "I am especially impressed with your oratory and memorization at such a young age. I want to see how your skills can develop in this environment."

"I thank you for your compliments," I said. "I am also looking forward to learning more and contributing what I can to the Chamberlain Society."

We parted ways, I returned to campus with a bit of a spring in my step. Vindication smelled so very sweet, not to mention the president of this prestigious theater company was seeking me out based on my reputation and acting skills. It felt nice to be in demand. I did keep my promise to Alan and shared nary a word of this conversation with anyone.

Later in the week I received a letter from Jacob inquiring about plans for the holidays, repeating his request for my special 18th birthday. I wrote him back saying I was "most looking forward to my return home" (even if it was a half-truth), though specifically saying I wanted to return to Oxford by New Year's. I said I wanted to get into the scholarly environment sooner rather than later so I could keep from getting distracted.

Around this time my focus went on my final exams for this semester of classes. There were quite a few late nights and quite a few moments where my body reminded me of my healing injuries. I would take half a drop of elixir, though it was making it hard to concentrate on my studies. That was when I decided I didn't need the stuff anymore, or at least not for the duration of exams. I was healed up enough, besides I needed to wean myself from it anyway. It was making my stomach turn, even if this unpleasant sensation was waved away by the lovely tiredness. I neglected to take it for one day, by the end of the day my aches made their presence rather well known. I still held off, it would be better for me in the long run.

My aches were persisting, in fact they were starting to make me feel a bit jittery. At the same time my nose was running like mad. Here I am trying to get hold of my physical state and I start coming down with something. This fear was confirmed a day later when I woke in a cold sweat, my stomach threatening mutiny and my aches all the more powerful. I managed to pry myself out of bed and get to class on time, though every movement made my belly churn even worse, every muscle pricking with aches. Out of all the occasions I had to come down with something, of course it had to happen during finals.

I still pressed on, despite all the pains and every drop of sweat. At last I was at the end of my class day. As much as I was trying to avoid it, I took a drop of laudanum just to get me to sleep. I slept like the dead that afternoon, waking with a bit of a headache though a bit more chipper than I had been earlier. I went about my evening like nothing happened. I feared I had picked something up, but apparently it must have been some bad meat or perhaps my nerves were catching up with me. I did have some rather intense examinations to go through, however I realized I was a bit more anxious about returning to London than I originally thought.

I had mixed feelings at best for a return. I was not all that amused about being pulled from this place where I had established myself away from prying eyes. On the other end I was looking forward to getting back to the city, though I knew I couldn't get too comfortable for too long. I would rather stay here and not experience that fleeting taste of such a glorious city before coming back.

I did think on my fellows at Mersey Hall a bit. By my estimation they were a good way through the winter drama, I wondered what production Colin had chosen and who was playing what. The thought was a bit heavy that the cast did not include me; it had not included me since September. Was I missed? Perhaps I was already just a memory. The thought did occur to me that perhaps I should attend a show. They would probably be winding down before the Christmas break. I could go, cheer them on, then meet up with them to catch up on old times. I could be just like a passing admirer in a place in which I used to be a star; the washed-up fool trying to relive his former glory vicariously through his friends. I believe I made my decision already.

A small part of me wanted to tell Jacob something came up at school that required my presence. I put that thought aside when I received his letter confirming my upcoming trip, saying Simon would be along on the 18th at noon to pick me up. Jacob did say something to the effect of "I promise I will have you back to your studies before the New Year." I accepted the plan soon after reading this. Perhaps I was being too maudlin about the whole matter.

I focused back on my studies, though I was still taking the laudanum to help me get some sleep. I would have an appointment with Dr. Fields to determine how healed I was and go from there. At last the middle of December passed, I got through my first set of university exams with a bit of ease. I packed up a small trunk of belongings to get me through the next week. I did find my lovely red dress in one of the trunks. I had neglected it all semester. I was tempted to pack it up, but I did vow to pack light. I put the dress back, promising the lady I would take her dancing when I returned.

We all visited a few more pubs that last night before parting. We drank up the Christmas cheer, toasting to a good holiday, good friends, family, all the blessings of this life. I got nice and tipsy, but didn't want to be too aching the next morning. We parted with warm embraces. I felt I would truly miss my fellows even if it was for just a week.

I woke the next morning somewhat groggy, but ready for the ride. Simon ended up being half an hour late, apparently it snowed pretty heavy the night before and many of the roads were a bit slushy. I shrugged off the tardiness, it was an understandable reason. At last my trunk was packed, I said some passing goodbyes to a few friends, and boarded the carriage.

It felt nice to ride without pain, though my aches were making themselves known. I took a drop and went right to sleep, this one a bit more pleasant than that last trip to Oxford. I woke up at one point to realize it was nightfall. A few hours later I was still only a little more coherent, but able to recognize the lights and spires of London on the horizon. I actually started feeling a bit jovial about the prospect of being back. We entered the city, it was the same as when I left a few months ago. Simon dropped me off at my apartment building, saying he would tell Master Jacob I had safely arrived.

Simon took my trunk up and I followed behind, going carefully up the stairs amid my grogginess. I managed to find the key I had put in my pocket earlier that day, though Simon opened the door himself; somehow I shouldn't have been too surprised he or even Jacob had a key. I thanked him for his service, receiving a "Welcome back, Master Grell," before he left. I walked back into my old apartment, shutting the door. It was the same as when I left; all the furniture was still in place. I could tell by the tablecloth and the vase full of red flowers the apartment had been prepared for my arrival.

There was a note on the table from Jacob, welcoming me back and bidding me to rest after my long journey. He did want to meet with me for tea tomorrow, in the meantime I should rest up. I took his advice; I removed my shoes and coat and simply collapsed on the bed. I ended up waking sometime around midnight, then took some time to settle in a bit better. It felt so odd being back in this place. The last night I spent here was the night after the accident; just looking on the mattress and the bureau made my aches return a bit. I had to remind myself of the snow on the streets and the chill in the air. It was December, it was four months since the last time I was here. So much had changed already, so many things I had feared had become great blessings; so much I thought I would miss I was hardly amused to revisit.

I slept well that night, sleeping into the daylight. I woke to find a note under the door, Jacob wanted to have a light lunch at his townhouse, Simon would pick me up around 2. I later dressed nicely though not with too much richness and awaited the ring that came right at 2. I boarded the carriage, feeling so odd to be at this routine again. I wasn't exactly happy to be on the way to my brother's house again, though at least I would be staying instead of getting ready for work. Simon escorted me to the door, Benjamin was right there with a warm greeting and invited me right in.

Jacob was waiting for me in the study, I was actually happy to see him. We exchanged a handshake and a light embrace, there were plenty of "university man" comments with light chuckles. Jacob said he took the day off to properly welcome me back, the benefit of being the lord of the office. He observed how upright I was, saying he still wanted me to have an appointment with Dr. Fields to determine how well I was healing. I told plenty of stories, he shared some updates from London. I did thank him again for his gifts.

Talk turned to the check, which turned to my neglect to open a bank account in Oxford; a point for which I received some light chastisement. I promised I would take care of this when I returned, then silently kicked myself for not thinking of this sooner. I had another opportunity to set aside money for emergencies, though such a need did not seem as pressing. Regardless I still needed to have that provision in place. Perhaps if the worst did happen I would still have access to escape money. Somehow thinking on this now felt a bit silly, but then one can never be too careful.

Jacob had scheduled my big party for Saturday, one night in my honor and one big pre-Christmas hurrah. He invited about fifty people from our noble circles, all of whom would descend on the townhouse for a night in my pseudo honor. I knew there was a reason why I hadn't been looking forward to this. I already had my official, far more enjoyable birthday party at school; this was going to be merely a formality, another way to show me off before the nobles. I had been in London barely a day and was reminded why I was not all that enthused to be back. He also had some invitations for me for a few other soirees, including one on Christmas at the home of some mutual acquaintance. Already I was back in the societal heap, oh joy.

I did receive some favorable news during that visit; Jacob had rented the services of a horse for me to use in London that week. I was ready to leap on him and embrace him right there, though it was clear there was a bit of reluctance in his voice.

"I am doing this as a personal courtesy, though it comes with the caveat that you will be absolutely careful and not repeat your foolishness," he said. "This is the last time I will be so generous."

"Understood and appreciated, brother," I said. "Believe me I have learned a hard lesson and have no intention of repeating that ill incident."

"I will take your word for it, though do not expect any more provisions should history repeat itself," he continued. "I would also recommend against letting Matthew get wind of this. He wanted me to promise I would hire a driver for you this week. I would rather not hear his tirades into the next century."

"You have my word. I can only show you gratitude for this kindness and I will take this very seriously."

I meant every word of it. Soon after I was taking my leave, Jacob told me the mare named Gertrude was in the stables at my apartment building as we spoke. I gave him many a promise I would be most careful, then took my leave. Simon took me back home and I immediately went out to the stables. She was a bit older and a bit slower, though I was happy. I mounted her, my hip slightly stiff and my back tender but I was ready for this. I was extra careful on the turns, the fear in my mind that I could go off at any moment. I kept steady and paced myself, knowing it was my actions that lead to that incident a few months ago.

I went to a few clubs but was careful not to have too many glasses. Instead I only sipped some spirits whilst hearing talk about business transactions and stocks and parties. These places were so much more fun while drunk. I did look down at my lovely new watch to see it was around 6:30. It was barely half an hour to Mersey Hall, the show would probably start at 7 and I would have plenty of time to stable Gertrude and take a seat…in an audience to whom I had once performed. Now I would sit as just another cad, watching every one of my friends shine in the winter drama. Besides I would be a member of the Chamberlain Society soon; I was doing greater things. I went to a more casual tavern and had a few more pints, happy to see the clock turn past 7:30.

I went home nice and relaxed, no desire to throw myself off my horse like last time. I stabled Gertrude, went inside, and happily found a few bottles of cognac I stored away in a cabinet. I finally found some pleasantness waiting for me in London. I sang in celebration of my return, toasted to my academic and social successes, and toasted in lamentation of the lack of physical pleasure I had in the past few months. Oh bloody hell I needed to bang something, maybe there would be a bevy of adorable lords waiting for me at my birthday party. I just imagined them all around. I imagined myself the center of a hurricane of rudeness; sweaty, muscular bodies forcing themselves on me one by one, blood flying everywhere. Then I awoke on the floor with soiled trousers and realized I had passed out and bloody dreamt it.

I did make an appointment with Dr. Fields that afternoon, get this bloody well over with. He came over to my apartment, examined me in the most boring way. His ruling was I had been healing but was putting too much of a strain on myself. Some areas should have healed better than they had. He advised me to take more rest, not physically exert myself too much or else I would re-injure myself very easily. He did advise me to only use the laudanum when necessary, "Nothing can make up for natural healing." I politely told him I would follow his advice, then shooed him along.

After an afternoon of some lovely opera and a nice lunch, I was back at my apartment changing for the big party. I put on a nice red velvet outfit with a particularly frilly cravat; naturally I was going to dress to the tops for my own party. I did warm myself up a bit with few classes of cognac, getting into the carriage and going to Jacob's townhouse rather relaxed. Now I was ready for a big party.

The servants put out rich-looking foods and plenty of spirits. Jacob and I had a glass of claret waiting for the guests to arrive, I was a bit excited. At last the high nosed idiots started working their way in. I was a bit disappointed Earl Phantomhive was unable to attend, I understood he was in Manchester attending to some official business. I would have to make due with these jovial chaps, I endeavored after my third glass of claret this would be a fun evening.

There were so many handshakes and hugs and kisses and packages. I felt so loved by these rich blighters. I toasted to the kindness of everyone, thanking everyone for remembering I existed. After an hour I believe I was saying just that, enjoying a few bemused smiles. Jacob did call all attention to us, putting an arm around my shoulder and singing my praises.

"A toast to my younger brother, now a man of 18; I have watched him go from a small child to a businessman and now a dedicated student at Oxford," Jacob said. "To Grell Sutcliff and his prosperous future."

He raised his glass, I watched a sea of people raise their glasses with fake smiles. I hoisted mine high and gave a cheerful "Huzzah!" It was back to mingling, where I could practically feel the phantom lips on my backside. I was ready for some lively conversations. One lord asked me if I was preparing for the family business. I believe I said I was using that as a back-up in case my aspirations to be a mercenary didn't work out. This got a few chuckles, apparently I was being clever. I had a few more glasses and toasted my cleverness.

Someone asked me if I had any plans to marry, I said the answer was sadly no; my order was sold out. Someone else asked me the same bloody thing, I went into a lecture about how wives tended to shorten men's lives. The uncomfortable chuckles I got were golden, how I loved seeing a few people walk away with passing glances back and veiled whispers. I did receive a few raised glasses with a "here here" from some drunken bachelors, though their laughs told me they assumed I wasn't all that serious.

I was content to go around the room and express my philosophies on how the latrine was the purest room of any house or how poorly treated servants should eat their masters. I overheard someone discussing the nature of man, I interjected that the nature of man was a fleeting concept.

"What if the man is actually a woman covered in a lie?" I remember saying with utmost earnestness. "How do you know I'm not really a woman? How do you know I don't wear dresses in private? The same could be said of you. You see, that's how foolish this concept of identity is. We all die don't we? I will die? You will die, sooner rather than later maybe."

The sod's huff and the way he stormed away from me made my trousers a bit tight. I don't know what his problem was, though I was enjoying myself greatly. I danced around to the paltry violinists in the parlor, sang along with music in my head. Jacob walked up to me and I invited him to dance with me. Instead he told me I was acting a bit foolish, perhaps I needed to go up to my room and rest. I told him I was fine as I was. It was when I fell into Benjamin and scattered his tray of glasses that I felt I should take Jacob's advice. Benjamin and a few other servants were so kind to take me upstairs. I bid a fond adieu to the crowd, loudly thanking all of them for honoring me so.

The next thing I remembered was waking in my old bed, my shoes and jacket were off though I had apparently passed out right in my clothes. My head was screaming, my mouth was like sawdust. Benjamin was along to check up on me, getting me some tea to help settle my stomach. Gradually I recalled a few bits of the previous night, including a few cheeky comments made in the presence of some stuffy characters. Bloody hell I was never going to live this one down was I? I had spent the past year trying to look like the proper little lad in parties like this, now I fouled that all up. I was horrified at the thought, though somehow liberated. I finally spoke freely to all those fake arseholes. A part of me didn't give a shit about the consequences.

I did eventually go downstairs, may as well let Jacob say his peace. I found him in the dining room having some tea and reading the paper. He simply looked at me with this little smirk, bidding me to join him for a cup. I readied an apology, but then held my tongue. Did I truly regret what happened last night? I truly couldn't say I did. I took my cup, gently sipping it to take care with my stomach.

"Rough morning?" he asked.

"An accurate assessment," I said.

"You were certainly enjoying yourself last night."

"Well it was my grand celebration after all."

"And you certainly took advantage, much to the chagrin of quite a few people."

"You've been fielding complaints haven't you?"

"A few, but mostly from the more humorless lot."

"Then why the hell did you invite them to my bloody party? You know I'm not humorless or dull by any means."

He did want me to speak more freely. Jacob sighed and shrugged.

"You know exactly why," he said. "You are a man of society, it was appropriate. While yes I do think you should have watched yourself on the liquor, it was a party after all. And yes it was your 18th birthday party. Perhaps I put a bit too much weight on the occasion."

I nodded. He sounded somewhat regretful.

"And how much did I scandalize the family name with my loose tongue?" I asked.

He gave this nervous chuckle.

"It was your party and you were celebrating," he said. "Easily explained. Just be careful from here on; you don't want to get the reputation of being the loud drunk at these gatherings."

I nodded again, taking my hand slap with grace. I knew better than to think he was writing this all off, this was his version of a light warning.

"I promise I will make it up to you," he continued, a sly smile coming across his face. "There is a gathering on Boxing Day that does not require you to be on your best behavior. Just save your spirit over the next few gatherings and there will be plenty of play time."

I promised him I would indeed, then dressed and took my leave. In the end I felt a bit lighter, a few memories slipped back of some of the lovely quips I made to these soft bastards that made me snicker a bit. Yes this could damage my reputation, but I was beyond caring about my reputation. I wanted to stand in a room full of the highest arsed bastards, come down in my lovely red dress, and tell them all which of their lot I wanted to sodomize.

As I entertained myself throughout the day, the thought returned to me to go to Mersey Hall that evening. The thought was a bit more of a struggle today. I felt as if I had been neglecting my friends since I had returned. Still the thought of sitting in that theater another audience member held little appeal. To satisfy my curiosity I did ride to Leicester Square, though felt my heart sinking the closer I drew to the building.

At last I reached it, seeing a poster outside for "Richard III." Underneath the title read, "Starring Ephraim Jones as Richard III." So the boy got his title role after all. I read down the cast list, feeling as if I was seeing these names like looking on a memory. It had only been three months since I saw everyone last, though everything felt different already. A small banner underneath the poster read "Last show before the holidays." A part of me wanted to go in, see if Colin or anyone else was around. Instead I just stared at the sign outside, something did not feel right about this at all. I yelled at myself to stop being difficult and go see my friends already, instead I turned around and walked away. It broke my heart to do so, yet it felt right.

I didn't want a bunch of congratulations for my success, I didn't want to tell a hundred stories about school. It felt little different here than at any of these blasted parties; it would just make me feel more of a stranger. This was the one place where I truly felt I belonged, but something felt different. Perhaps I had grown so close to school, perhaps I simply belonged to whatever environment I was at the time, but would anyone know who I truly was?

I had grown used to the mask I wore for school; putting on another one felt odd even if it had been so safe and familiar before. My theater mask had been pulled off, my academic one was in place and not easily dislodged. That was all they would see; I was not like them anymore. They knew my true identity, they knew my station and my current status as a student. Were they truly so unmoved by any of that?

It was evident that's all I was; just a series of masks. But there was something underneath, something I might have shown a few people at that party last night though they could not fathom my true visage. The thought brought a smile to my face.

I later returned home, the thought nagging at me to go back to Mersey Hall and see the last show before the holidays. Instead I joined Jacob at a small dinner party he was having with a few closer acquaintances. I could have spent the night with more jovial people, though for some reason I was more comfortable here. By nine o'clock I was kicking myself for my decision, though still did not feel comfortable trying to chase down the company at the pub.

There were a few more gatherings over the next few nights. I did remain on my best behavior, though had to deal with a few sideways glances and comments on my decorum the previous night. I apologized in all cases, admitting I had been a bit foolish that night. None of my apologies were sincere, just the master actor at work.

I spent most of Christmas at Jacob's house. We exchanged a few small presents, enjoyed a lovely breakfast, then went out to a grand holiday gathering held by one Earl Harding. I did remind myself a few times it had been a year since I tried to kill my nephew. And here I was sipping mulled wine and singing a few carols with some nobles. As much as I detested this crowd, I found these strangers much more pleasant than any of my family members.

At last it was Boxing Day, the day Jacob said would be a party to make up for the calamity that had been my birthday party. We went to Baron Jameson's large townhouse; lo and behold was a room full of half-dressed drunks. There were so many working girls there, the Baron himself was pointing out a few of the best. Now this was my element.

I took a few drinks, spoke freely with a few gentlemen there, kissed a few working girls and selectively chose who I would take as refreshment. I took aside a raven-haired beauty with ample assets and rammed her into the bedpost. Finally I had my urges met, but it just felt routine. A few more drinks later I took aside two golden haired girls and made them treat me like their king. How good it felt to be pampered, they were so skilled in everything they did. I paid them a bit extra afterward, then went back to the party. I was hoping I could find some more variety, as in a gentleman who would be willing to engage in illegalities. No such luck, everyone was going after the girls.

After a few more drinks I was feeling particularly saucy. I picked out this tall girl with brown ringlets; she looked rather sturdy. I took her aside and told her I was going to be very frank with her. That would cost me a little extra, she said. I agreed to the terms. Soon my shirt was around her wrists and my belt across her back. She yelped a bit, but a pillowcase in her mouth solved that problem. I lay in, savoring the crimson that pooled up over pristine alabaster skin. She looked so much more beautiful. I caressed her back, smearing the lovely red even more. I dug my nails into her shoulders to create some more contrasting marks.

I put her on her knees and took her, smashing her head into the bedpost with every thrust. I reminded her she was a filthy whore; I hissed it in her ear before biting her cheek hard. I pulled her hair, crumpling those innocent-looking ringlets. I wanted her to look filthy, damaged. I threw her on the floor and probed every bit of her, shoving the pillowcase harder into her mouth. She was powerless beneath me. I was her master, she was my slave subject to my every whim. I scratched like an animal, the pooling blood made me thrust even harder. How I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck, how I wanted to pound into her with every futile gasp she took. I wanted to feel her dying, I wanted to fuck her cold, dead corpse.

Instead I finished off, got up, put my trousers back on, and gave the whore her fee before leaving that room. Leaving behind a dead body right here might be a little rude. I had to pull myself away from going back and ending her right there.

Someone would notice her bloody and bruised. But then this was a party after all; misadventure could only be expected.


	43. Part 43

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 43**

I was finally on a carriage bound for Oxford. A small stack of pound notes sat in a bag next to me ready for deposit in a bank by school. My trunk on the roof with a few bottles of nice port and cognac stashed in. God help Simon if he took too many rough turns. My apartment was all locked up, the mare back at the dealer's stable safe and sound. I left with no sentiment, I was just ready to get the hell on with my life.

I did spend one more day in London before my departure, mostly with Jacob and some other polite nobles. It was all boring bollocks peppered with a few last nips in my direction for my drunkenness at my own fucking birthday party. Apparently nobles do not live down one single faux pas. Speaking of which no one mentioned anything about a beat-up whore from Baron Jameson's party. I'm sure I would have heard about it from Jacob if someone made a grievance. Perhaps it was best to not have left a body, though I admit I was still a little disappointed to interrupt my play.

Last time I left the city with small longing, this time I was keeping my eyes on the inside of the carriage with no desire to look back. I couldn't get far enough away. At school I had been spoiled by the lack of social engagements and constant supervision by my brother. I couldn't wait to be back in Oxford and in the presence of some more agreeable people. Eventually I gazed out the window, watching the countryside pass by. When I got too bored with that, I took some elixir and went right out.

We arrived in Oxford shortly after nightfall. Christmas was a few days ago, yet a few stray wreathes remained on a few of the lampposts. A new coat of snow covered the streets, I saw locals and students passing by. I felt welcomed the moment I returned. Simon dropped me off at Chamberlain, taking up my bag and leaving. I gave him an extra tip for his able work, then went to find a few friends. Classes would start up in another week, a good number of my friends were around though a few were still in their respective homes.

I found Lord Alvin and Henry immediately and our path went straight for the pubs. We traded stories from the break. Henry went away for a week like I did, Alvin stayed to catch up on some studying. I heard plenty of stories from them but I myself was a bit disinterested in sharing too many of my own. I merely told them there were a few parties, a lot of time with my brother, nothing more interesting than that. A few more glasses brought out a few more details, a few more after that and I was loudly relaying the whole story of my drunken party complete with commentary. A few more drinks later I was singing carols. We hopped between a few pubs, I'm sure the boys were a three sheets to the wind and I was lucky I could keep my footing.

I forget how many we ended up visiting. I just recall striking up conversations with everyone, complete with a few back slaps and even a few hands on shoulders. One gentleman didn't seem to like my friendliness too much, I do recall him shoving my hand off his shoulder. He didn't want me touching him? Well too bad, he got my fist to his face anyway. For such a tough guy, he had an awful soft face though I didn't realize I only swatted his saggy jowl. He swung back, though I was pulled back by a few brave saviors. I thanked them amply as they dragged me out and I gave a few passing courtesies to the snarling killjoy and the yelling bartender.

I remember feeling a little sad to return to campus, but my friends were kind enough to get me into my bed. I ended up waking on the floor, my head screaming though my punching hand thankfully unscathed. I finally went to get some food when my stomach stabilized. I ran into a few other mates in the dining hall. By now word of my adventure last night was going round.

"Is it true the guy was twice your size?" one lad, Michael, asked me. "You had to have been really drunk or have huge balls."

I snickered a bit at this.

"The former probably, if I had the latter his head would be all over the wall," I replied, enjoying a few wide eyes and nervous chuckles.

After a nice full day of rest, I was following a few others to the pub; promising everyone I wouldn't get that obliterated. I didn't keep my promise, though this time I was in more of a jovial state. I was belting out jokes to the patrons, getting a few bread crusts thrown at me. By the end of the evening I recall wanting to embrace my loving schoolmates. I awoke in my bed with my shirt off and my nightgown lying on the floor. I deduced that I must have made an attempt to change for bed.

I asked my fellows at breakfast how much of an arse I had been the other night. No one said anything, just a few words of how affectionate I had been; the little smiles and snickers told me much. I knew from then on I really had to be careful; my urges were a bit more forbidden and with enough liquor and enough gentlemanly company I could give myself away rather easily. I decided to stay closer to campus that night, making a point to avoid the liquor. I only had a few glasses, thankfully waking in my bed the next morning with less of a headache.

New Year's Eve was the next night. I fondly remembered the Phantomhive party, though was happy to be spending the last night of 1777 in quieter surroundings. The school had a special dinner that night. All the students gathered in the common hall later, food and drinks all around. We shared New Year's resolutions between drinks, the resolutions getting more and more ridiculous the drunker we got.

At last the arm of the clock drew closer to the twelfth hour. We all counted down to the final hour, then yelled and tossed confetti at midnight; welcoming in 1778. A few bottles of champagne were out, we all toasted to a prosperous New Year. As I toasted, I briefly recalled a conversation between two demented idiots:

"Just wait until next year, he won't disappoint," Mr. Pettengill said to his equally bizarre colleague during that party last July.

Technically it was "next year," I wonder what these blighters were waiting for? I silently toasted to Mr. Pettengill and Mr. Pennington. Now you boys owe me a good laugh.

After this I decided to cut back a little on the carousing and try to get back into the studying mindset. I also brushed up a bit on "Hamlet." Alan informed me the first meeting of the Chamberlain Players was in another two weeks. I wanted to be as ready as I could be, show I was serious about Shakespeare's verse and not another obnoxious child. I had been on my best behavior the few days before classes commenced, I was ready to get back into the swing of things.

I did allow myself a few drinks the night before classes, perhaps a few more than I should but nothing that would slow me down the next day. I enjoyed some free conversations with my fellows and a little gossip with Lord Alvin about some of the other nobles. I did share some juicy details and he seemed most entertained by the word. I woke up a bit more comfortably the next morning, ready to start a brand new semester. For the first time in three weeks I was sitting at a desk taking notes and listening to lectures. I was a bit fidgety, ready to raise my hand to contribute anything but after a few classes I was simply keeping to my notes and daydreaming.

I didn't take too much of a fun load of classes this semester. I ended up taking more general classes, getting those out of the way so I could focus more on the fun stuff later. Alas I had to deal with the boring stuff now: algebra, European history, literary theory, the joyous list went on. I did take a German class; I had some rudimentary knowledge of the language thanks to mother's influence, now I wanted to be a bit more skilled in it. As much as I had wanted to get back into music, I decided to give myself a semester off and let my shoulder heal a bit better.

By the end of the week it became more and more tempting to use my desk as a pillow. Hopefully as the semester continued I would find more topics of interest and participate with a bit more gusto. My fellows and I celebrated the end of the first week with a pub crawl on Friday night. We shared a few stories over pints about professors, classes, classmates. I was happy to chime in with my viewpoints on each topic, almost offended at the laughs I received; I was making a serious speech after all.

Apparently more people wanted to hear my opinions on such topics over drinks; quite a few gents, some who just saw me that night, invited me to join them on Saturday night. I was more than happy to share my philosophies, especially with the more rum I was provided. Alas I lost all recollection of the important points I was making, only hearing about them second hand the next morning as my head pounded like a thousand drums. I was making a bit of an arse of myself, though I was almost proud of it.

Sunday it was back to studying, though still enjoying a few glasses and a few laughs with friends that evening. Monday it was back to the routine; playtime was over, it was time to sit at a desk for the next few hours and listen to some old bugger drone on.

As dull as my routine became, I was looking forward to the auditions for the Chamberlain Society even more. As the day drew closer I was somewhat giddy about it, though readying myself for a fight. If some high-nosed wanker wanted to force me out, I would plant myself there like a stake in a mud hole. I almost wanted to get in a fight, get in someone's hot little face and tell them why I deserved to be there as much as any older student.

I confess I did break my promise to Alan that I would remain silent. I did tell a few mates a bit quietly about Alan's involvement; how he encouraged me to audition after seeing that performance in the common hall. This got a good rise out of the boys, we toasted some wine to sweet revenge. They said they wanted to know all the details when the audition was done.

Alan told me they society had an odd tradition where they only announced the next play after auditions. Players prepare any Shakespeare piece and then are placed in parts depending on their performing merits. It was an interesting challenge. As cliché as it was, I decided to have "To be or not to be" ready. May as well show them my skills in something a bit common, which happened to be my first big role.

It was a Tuesday night when I walked into one of the wide lecture halls on the second floor, my nose high in the air and truing to hold back a smirk as I approached the group. I counted about fifteen boys sitting in chairs or standing around and chatting, eyes turning to me as I approached. Alan caught sight of me and beckoned me forward. I introduced myself and exchanged polite handshakes with the rest of the boys, marking every single hard glance falling on me.

"This is Mr. Grell Sutcliff," Alan told the group. "I have heard he is a bit of a wunderkind in the art of Shakespeare, he is here to be put to the test."

The lads chuckled in response, I joined in as well though did not miss some side comments to the effect of "let's boil this egg," or an annoyed "brilliant." I did notice how he didn't mention he was the one who asked me to be here, but I brushed it off as mere details. Alan started giving the basic introduction; the meeting schedule, a list of duties for the officers; all business rubbish to which I intently listened to better understand this group. Meetings were twice a week; Tuesday and Thursday evening. Professor Smithson would be joining us tonight, though not on a regular basis.

Speak of the devil, who should shuffle in with satchel in hand but Professor Smithson himself. All of us stood up to greet him, I joined in just like any other member of the group. He gave a hasty apology for being late, the adjusted his spectacles and casually glanced at every member of the circle. The double-take and the glare he planted on me was a thing of pure beauty.

I merely nodded in greeting, he gave me another glare then walked up to Alan. Alan said he would take care of the bugger, hence why I wasn't being interrogated as to why I was there or shooed away like a stray pigeon. His reaction was that of a man who knew this vermin would be waiting for him. Alan and the professor finished up the business portion, then Alan had us stand in a circle to give the floor to the audition.

"Mr. Sutcliff, you will go last to see how things are done," Alan said.

I assumed he meant I would get the opportunity to see the players' auditioning procedure, though the tone of his voice suggested I was being schooled. By then I knew not to be surprised when these words conjured a few filthy chuckles from the rest of the boys.

One boy got in the center and gave Brutus' speech after the murder of Caesar, hand clutching a phantom dagger as he passionately pleaded with the Romans why he and his friends did the right thing. When he ended, all the boys clapped and cheered; the lad (Peter I think his name was) bowed. Another went in the center and gave Iago's "Evil for evil's sake" speech. After a few more, it felt as if I was part of an intimate theater in the round that resembled both a poetry recital or a telling of drunken stories. All the players were doing their respective scenes with gestures and movements. The deliveries were dynamic, but of an even tone combined with controlled voices. After a few more, I was more thinking the general lot sounded like high end poets entertaining in a parlor.

I saw Alan and the good professor taking notes off to the side, but this was hardly the formal audition process I knew from Mersey Hall. Some of the boys were even giving speeches from female characters. I realized it was only natural they would do so; naturally there were no actresses in our midst, there weren't any in Shakespeare's time either.

By the tenth boy I was starting to relax, reading myself to take a few risks. I had initially prepared "To be or not to be," though I now felt that would be a bit safe. As tempted as I was to do "Queen Mab," I didn't want to give Alan the impression I was a one note. I did hear a few repeat soliloquies, meaning I did not have to trouble myself with keeping entirely original.

Finally the last boy finished a speech from "Twelfth Night," then all eyes turned on me.

"I hope you have found this experience illuminating, Mr. Sutcliff," Alan said. "If you're not too intimidated, we will give you leave to contribute."

I walked right into the circle and mentally readied my lines. The last boy did a warm soliloquy on love, perhaps I could give some nice contrast. I took a moment to get myself in character, then went full on into the "Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt" speech. I got firmly into character, but I held myself back with a strong hand. I put in quiet, yet striking emotion; not channeling my inner demons but expressing myself freely. I wanted to be subtle, yet noticed. If they decided I was unworthy for anything, such was their loss.

I ended my speech on one knee, face in my hands, then paused. I received polite claps, then rose to my feet and bowed, taking my place back with the others. Alan got out in front of us, thanking us for our efforts. He said the cast announcements would be made at next week's meeting, then he bid us farewell. Everyone casually scattered. I followed the flow of the crowd, hearing the boys talking amongst themselves, though no eye was put on me and no words were given in my direction. I did catch a couple more side glances as lads filed out of the room.

I gave a few passing recitations of "until next time" and "it was a pleasure meeting you" as I left, though no one responded back. They simply looked at me and went about their business. I would be lying to say I felt no offense at all, though I couldn't say any of this surprised me. A small part of me wanted to write off the whole experience. Why bother coming back to this? Why not act somewhere, anywhere, where my talents will be appreciated? I shooed that voice away, now I was curious to see where this went.

Out of deference to Alan, I made sure to advise my mates not to repeat a word of all the rants I made about that group and their members over drinks. The other lads were also pretty drunk, though I trusted their word. We were sitting at a side table in a pub somewhere when I told them of every sideways glance and glare, getting so many hoots in response.

"So you gonna leave or you gonna be a glutton for punishment and stay with those bastards," Henry managed to slur.

"I'm not running," I said, shoving my glass forward in emphasis. "I'm going to stay with those blighters and annoy the every living shit out of them."

I received round of applause in return.

Thursday I came back to the same lecture hall, receiving as many friendly glances as before. Alan stood at the front of the room with a book in his hand; ready for the dramatic presentation, I assumed. After some basic introductions and general praises for all of our respective acting talents, he finally turned around the book and bid all of us to come forward and read the title.

"The Tragedy of Macbeth"

I clapped with the rest, though a little smirk came over my face. How many themes from that play mirrored my own life? Now what should my university drama group play the moment I entered their midst? The irony was downright delicious. Alan had already warned me I would be lucky to play but a servant, I was amiable to that. I would watch with interest as the rest of the company embodied their roles, perhaps I could stand to learn something from this group.

Alan named the parts. The Scottish King was a burly chap around Alan's age named Simon, a skinny fellow with stringy black hair named Michael took Macduff. The part of Lady Macbeth went to this short gentleman named Tyler; I watched how everyone clapped cheerfully for him as they did the others, he looked quite satisfied with his role. I listened for any jabs and snickers, but there were none. Apparently female roles were taken with as much seriousness by these lads as any male part. This fascinated me to no end.

The list was read down from the major players to the minor nobles; unsurprisingly, my name had yet to be called. I was sure I was being saved for last. I would be happy even if I ended up as the loud drunken servant who provides some comedy after the intense scene following Duncan's murder, then that part went to another lad. By the end I had an idea what part I might be given.

"And our newest member, Mr. Sutcliff, who put on such a dazzling performance from 'Hamlet' last week," Alan said.

The announcement received a few polite, yet unenthusiastic claps.

"Alas I warned you that you would get but a starter role, in fact I will give you two roles well within your talents," Alan said. "The role of Fleance and the role of Macduff's Son goes to Mr. Grell Sutcliff."

This brought some life out of this group. The company cheered, I caught more than few laughs and sarcastic bravos. I took a step forward and bowed grandly.

Fleance was Banquo's son, as I recall he was no more than twelve-years-old and had but one line in the entire play. His most dramatic moment was running away from his father's assassins. Macduff's Son had about a page or so worth of thoughtful lines before he is killed rather dramatically. I believe most performances will use a boy of no older than ten for that role. I believe I caught onto a theme with these assignments.

Alan handed out books to everyone and gathered us round for a basic readthrough. I followed along and listened intently. I had few lines, mostly at near the end of the play, though it was blatantly obvious my place was to learn. I was the apprentice given the toil work by some odious sod of a master, but the sod was a genius at what he did and I would learn his skills in turn.

The readings were textbook; I heard some emotions, but everything was muted. There was more emphasis put on the words themselves than true delivery. It did feel more like a reading circle than the first steps toward a production, all that was missing was the coffee and brandy. I had been warned of this before by both Colin and Professor Archer; this was more a group focused on dramatic readings than true theater.

We got through most of the first half of the play during that meeting. I finally had the opportunity to deliver Fleance's two sparse lines to his father. After the lines were delivered, Alan stopped the reading and advised me on playing a child.

"Do not let your tone become squeaking, though let it be light," he said. "remember your own speaking style from youth. Do you know any youths yourself."

"A few," I replied, suddenly recalling the yells of a few King's Crest brats after my nails met their fingers.

"Think on them, though deliver your lines more naturally," Alan said.

I just had two fucking lines, though this would be important to remember for Macduff's son.

Soon after we parted with the word we would actually practice some "gestures" next time. This sounded promising. The session ended, I politely left with salutations that were generally ignored and found my mates later for some evening libations.

We gathered again on Tuesday, continuing the reading through the end of the play. I finally had my chance as Macduff's son. I recalled Alan's instructions and followed them as best I could. I was still interrupted after every line with more suggestions on reading like a boy.

"You're still technically a boy, I'm sure you can do better than that," one said.

Finally we were allowed to continue on through the rest of the play. Then the Witches were given some time to give their lines out in the middle complete with "gestures." The term was relatively accurate; Alan wasn't doing any formal blocking, only advising on stature and delivery. No one was wearing costumes, but then this was the first part of rehearsals.

I was somewhat looking forward to Thursday and seeing more of Alan's direction. As I expected, it ended up being more of the same. He simply left the players in the circle and advised them on their characters. Perhaps this could be a refreshing approach. A few times Alan asked the players to give their own interpretations of their characters feelings and motives. This lead to a few insightful discussions on the Witches and their correlation with mythology or how innocent Macbeth was or was not in the beginning.

I simply followed along and listened, even when the conversation was opened to everyone else I still stayed silent. Apparently they had some difficulty with younger students who would be rather loud about their naiveté. I felt it was best for me to keep my mouth shut in the meantime. Perhaps later I could speak my own thoughts when they had warmed up to me a little (or at all). Some of their interpretations were downright idealistic; Macbeth was heralded as this pure soul tempted by the Devil. I had a mind to remind everyone how Macbeth was a hardened soldier who was described as having opened up Macdonwald "from the nave to the chops," though still bit my tongue.

These discussions belabored everything. At Mersey Hall we would have done the first half of the play in a few days. By the end of the next week. We were barely at the part where Macbeth is declared Thane of Cawdor. The pace was maddening, so was the urge to speak at some of these ridiculous interpretations. Every night I would leave without a word nor parting greeting from anyone, even Alan. That fucker pulled me into his little band of players and his shoulder was as cold as the rest.

I did run into Alan on a Saturday and he finally pulled me aside with some polite words, probably the only ones I heard from him since joining this organization.

"I did say you weren't in for an easy time, though I do think you've been getting on marvelously," he said. "You might be getting the cold shoulder now, though I am sure they will warm to you. Alas you are bearing the burden of all the mistakes other freshers have made before you. Perhaps you will open the gates back up. I'm counting on you to be that exception."

Apparently this was supposed to be encouragement. Let's not discuss the fact it has been nigh on a month and nothing was getting warmer. I wanted to ask him why the fuck he pulled me aside for that bloody discussion and that formal invitation into the group. Did he enjoy humiliating me? Did he want to teach me a lesson? Perhaps this was a form of hazing, though why kiss my arse to get me in and proceed to spank it a moment later. Despite every nagging thought in my mind I held my tongue.

"I shall take you at you word," I said, my tone polite though I kept my hands back from smacking him.

There was a reason he wanted me here. Perhaps he was being silent to show no favoritism, though perhaps he felt I was the best player. I allowed myself to trust that this matter would work to my advantage in the end.

I dutifully walked in on Tuesday and stood around for another "rehearsal." By the third time Alan stopped the action to engage in thoughtful discussion I was ready to kick him. I was open for hearing some intelligent points, but all I as hearing was shallow interpretations from a group of boys who thought they were being so clever.

Finally it was time for Lady Macbeth's "Unsex me here" soliloquy. Tyler held himself rather well for a noblewoman, though I personally thought his delivery was a bit too weak. He was playing such a strong woman like a dainty maiden, every line calling from strength from the black pits of Hell sounded like a lover's lament. I was happy Alan did address this, though Tyler's remedy made him sound more like a spoiled girl stamping her foot. He finished the soliloquy and Alan halted him there, everyone applauded. I clapped politely with teeth firmly gritted.

Alan used this opportunity to start a discussion on Lady Macbeth's nature. My interest was a bit more piqued, though I hardly had high hopes for what would come out of everyone's mouths. It all ended up being exactly what I feared; I counted so many different references to the snake of Eden, a few even bringing up Lilith. A lad named Alex did mention how Lady Macbeth was unable to hold a real title by her sex and hence lived vicariously through her husband. That argument was almost immediately dismissed in favor of discussions of Original Sin and the moral weakness of women.

Eventually I raised my own hand, it was ignored of course though Alan noticed it.

"I believe our newest member has something to contribute," Alan said pointing to me. "Tell us, Mr. Sutcliff, what do you see in Lady Macbeth?"

All eyes fell on me, it was hard to ignore a few smirks and eye rolls.

"I concur with Alex's point," I began, "Lady Macbeth, as morally flawed and greedy with ambition as she was, was a great tactician. She knew what would gain power and she grasped it. Had she been blessed with being male, she could have been a king or a strategist. Instead she was the dutiful wife, expected to be but a piece of furniture and a breed cow to her powerful husband. Here she was given an opportunity to wield her husband as a deadly weapon, hence she rose to power on his back. She turned the tables on the society that would keep her locked up. Does this make her a villain? Most likely, though I prefer the term 'opportunist.'"

I heard a snicker from the other side of the circle, one of the boys was looking at me with a smile.

"Are you suggesting a woman is capable of Machiavellian intrigue, Mr. Sutcliff?" this lad, Roger, said. "I do not doubt she is calculating, though women's intrigues are always muted by their passions."

"But she did know how to combine female passions with intelligent wiles," Tyler added. "Such is what makes her dangerous. You will recall a scene coming up in which she tells Macbeth she will withhold her love if he does not go through with it."

"A very simple manipulation tactic, one our society has given to women they use as their own weapon," I interjected. "Society continues to remind us that women are ruled by their emotions, hence they use their emotions as their weapon because they know men — especially their husbands — will have little resistance. That and the speech holding back her love sounds suspiciously like denying a man some fun in bed. Now who is ruled more by their passions?"

This did receive a few sincere laughs.

"In all sincerity it is foolish to underestimate anyone's designs, whether those of men or women," I continued.

"Some very astute points, though I have one question," asked some other lad, Benjamin I believe his name was. "Do you bear any female designs yourself? A few feminine wiles of your own?"

He finished his sentence with a light downward flip of the wrist. The group roared, a few whistles peppered in. I laughed along merrily myself, yet couldn't control the sheen of sweat over my back. What an intelligent, insightful question from a such a mature, educated man and I was so astounded by everyone's equally thoughtful reactions. So they wanted to play did they? I lightly stepped over to Benjamin, back of the wrists on my hips.

"Are you asking because you want something, sweetest?" I asked, looking Benjamin straight in the eyes. "Sorry love, remember what I said about 'withholding?'"

I motioned up and down my form and then swung my rump forward, giving it a good slap. A few of the boys were practically pissing themselves laughing, a few others shook their heads with stiff grimaces or gaping mouths. Benjamin smiled and stepped back. I saw Alan give some fake chuckles, but his form stiffened right up.

"I believe that is enough discussion for right now," Alan said in a raised voice. "Let's get back to the task at hand."

Everyone calmed down, I stepped back feeling rather proud of myself. Alan gave me this calm glare before returning his attention to the group. Oh dear me, he didn't look too amused right now. Fuck him; it would probably do him good, though I wasn't volunteering.

That week's meeting ended soon after. This time lads were actually recognizing my presence as I left; even if they were waving with limp wrists and bidding high-pitched ado's. I saw little Bennie was glaring at me quite nicely as was Alan. I walked out with a bit of a spring in my step. Perhaps I actually entertained a few of those blighters, perhaps some of them enjoyed my points. Perhaps I made some rather uncomfortable, I admit I was more enthusiastic about that prospect.

I relayed the entire tale at a pub later after several glasses, laughing at my own cleverness. The boys were howling in laughter along with me.

I went into the Thursday's meeting with my head a bit higher, some of the lads were even acknowledging my presence with little smirks and nods. I wasn't naïve enough not to think Tuesday's discussion did not have an impact; the kind of impact that would have been the worst nightmare for any molly of my standing. I gave them all little waves back with a hand to my hip; why not savor the danger?

Alan was keeping discussion relatively sparse, apparently in the interest of getting back on target.

I was finally given the opportunity to come back as Fleance, scolded for slouching too much to appear smaller and given the usual taunts about my delivery. I thanked everyone for their input with little curtsies. Someone used the "remember you were just a boy" line again.

"What if I told you I was a little girl, would that get you to shut your holes?" I replied.

This got laughs as well as calls from Alan for everyone to settle down. We actually got through the murder and Macbeth being declared king before the end. Naturally there were a few parting thoughts before we wrapped. One boy was making another point about Lady Macbeth.

"Though perhaps I am not as much an expert on femininity as another member of our circle," he said in conclusion.

"Nobody's perfect," I said right back, flipping my ponytail.

This got a few hoots, not to mention another glare from Alan. By now I was eating this all right up. The session finally ended. As I left Alan pulled me aside and practically shoved me into another hallway.

"I understand you are under a lot of pressure in some tough company, and I appreciate your wit and humor," he gently scolded. "It is making myself and other members a bit uncomfortable. You have been given some most insulting comments, though you are doing yourself and this company no favors by being so vulgar. If word of your fooling gets around we could be in for trouble."

I'm making you uncomfortable. I couldn't bloody believe what I was hearing. It was so marvelous in its ridiculousness.

"I understand," I replied. "I know how very concerned you are with the reputation of this fair organization."

I wasn't exactly saying that in a polite tone.

"I am also very concerned about your own reputation," Alan continued. "You have a very promising career. All this loose molly will cloud people's perceptions of you. I know you are being unfairly judged by the others because of how young you are, but your actions are not making people think the better of you. I know from your talent you are that exception to the idiots who have been with us before, but you are only hurting yourself with this foolishness. Please think before you let loose your tongue."

I gave him my word I would behave myself then left. And he seemed so very calm, apparently that only goes so far before the claws come out. I wonder if he was hiding a little secret of his own. Regardless I went on from that point forward as just the quiet little lad, though waiting for my opportunity to share my charming personality a bit more.

We finally got to my shining parts. Tuesday was the day of Banquo's assassination and Fleance's escape. The whole scene was by the book; some of the younger boys (as in second and third year's) gathered round as hoary ruffians. I walked beside father as we were set upon. I flew off like a little deer; all simple actions, though I did my best to look scared. I was able to look back from the side and watch a rather stiff and clumsy assassination. Hopefully they would get better at this the further we were into rehearsals (if they could even be called "rehearsals"). I politely ignored the high pitched parting salutations.

Thursday I endured an hour of shrieking witches and subsequent discussion on the difference between the witches and Lady Macbeth. This discussion ended up being so ridiculous I didn't care to chime in. A few of the boys did try to drag me in.

"Sutcliff you understand women so well, what do you make of this?" one blighter said.

Alan cut him right off, barking something about wanting to stay on time and avoid silliness. I could easily have contributed a trite response, but Alan was hurrying things along with a pointed look in my direction.

"This is a better time for Mr. Sutcliff to contribute in the form of his role, which is far more appropriate," Alan said.

I gave him my full agreement, holding back a smirk at what was vexing him so. I did wonder why this bothered him as much as it did.

In the meantime I went right into scene the moment Lady Macduff and Ross finished their conversation. I walked in a bit of a crouched position, then went on my knees. Alan scolded me for doing so, though allowed it for the time being. Lady Macduff looked down to me. In this moment I was an innocent little lamb unaware of the treachery of the world trying to understand why his father was hated so. I delivered my lines about liars and traitors like any innocent boy. I was receiving laughs for my performance, but I didn't bloody care. Alan only scolded me on my tone once, apparently I had been learning.

Soon the murderers were on us. I gave one a nice slap to the leg, getting a dagger to the side in return. Now was the time for some dripping drama. I clutched my side; reminding myself I was only a young child and wounded so. In this moment I was a dying little boy. I was a young child who should not see so much blood let alone his own. A young child who should not watch it pool on the floor.

I looked down at my side and imagined the dripping red…all over my feet, all over the floorboards, the bodies sprawled on the floor, her severed head and the axe through his skull. I stood frozen, my body shivering; oh God please don't let father hear me.

"Is your line so hard you forgot it?" a voice called from the side, bringing my attention forward.

I took a hard breath, mimicking dying though more to keep with the scene at hand. I went up to my mother, seeing her look of dramatic amazement.

"He has killed me, mother," I whimpered, flopping into her arms.

My mother almost didn't catch me, but seemed to do so as a last minute instinct. It was so typical; she was quiet as a proper lady should but those motherly instincts were still there.

She never saw it, but she knew. She could tell my secret by my soft voice, the way I was looking downward. I didn't need to say a word, she never told me she knew but it was all over her face. She knew I had seen something no person should, she probably knew father was the one who did it. Only this time mother pushed me off. I sprang to my feet, my head spinning as I saw the boys around me.

"Sorry, love, not interested in cuddling tonight," Lady Macduff, or in this case Derek, said.

Laughter went around the room.

"Mr. Sutcliff, try not to linger so long in your lines," Alan scolded. "Slow timing does not necessarily make for increased pathos."

I nodded in understanding, but my heart was racing and sweat beaded down the back of my neck. What the bloody hell just happened?

Practice ended soon after and I saw Alan march right up to me. A few of the boys filed out, but most of them stayed around to watch the spectacle.

"Let me guess, you went a bit too far into character," Alan said in a soft voice, but everyone could still hear everything. "You are one of those performers who has to envelope yourself in your characters, feel everything they feel. In that moment, you believed you were a pathetic little urchin breathing his last."

A pathetic little urchin, yes; little enough to fit in the back of the wardrobe and not be seen. I stared right into Alan's pretty green eyes, I had to stay present right now. Now was not the time to wander off.

"Well, I have good news, my friend," Alan continued, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You're not a child and you're not dead, please keep that in mind the next time your silly little imagination gets the best of you."

My silly little imagination; yes, that's all it was. My brain was being ridiculous. I could only nod in understanding, he just stared at me harder.

"Empathy is a dangerous thing. It might have made you successful off Leicester Square…"

The riotous laughter that went up through the room felt like a horde of wasps against every part of my body.

"…though I cannot fathom what nonsense you put yourself through as Hamlet or as Mercutio," Alan interrupted loudly. "I just needed to see you right here and know where you were going. It is so easy to do so, especially at your age, but it is utterly ridiculous. I will make no time for it, nor will I tolerate that approach."

Everything he said made perfect sense, I felt more than a bit silly at the moment.

"So are you going to act like a reasonable, intelligent man or are you going to continuously act like some kind of weakling boy?" Alan asked.

"Or a woman," I heard someone mutter from the side, loud enough to receive snickers in response.

"Little Miss Molly," someone else whispered a bit loudly.

Alan's expression remained stony.

"Are you hearing this?" Alan said, pointing to the group. "What did I tell you about reputation, especially for a man of your standing."

I heard a few more mutters of "oh a rich boy too," followed by "or rather that a rich girl."

I stared at him, pulling back enough for him to let go of my shoulder. This whole scene was getting exhausting, I wanted to get the hell out of there. I took up Alan's hands in my own, feeling the way he stiffened.

"I thank you for your advice, dearest Alan," I said, staring into his eyes. "I shall take heed of it."

I was going to just let go of his hands, or likely throw them down. Instead I dropped one hand and kissed the other like a potentate's ring. The laughter this time was most soothing, as was the look on Alan's face. I dropped his hand, then turned and walked away, a few laughs following me out.

I stayed in my room that night drained about half a bottle of fine rum I had brought with me from London. I ended up passing out, then went to class the next morning with a roaring headache. I had little to contribute on the reading I should have done the night before, thankfully class ended without anyone asking for my thoughts on Aristotle. I deflected any requests from my friends for reports on the last "rehearsal," though did manage to say they were boringly predictable as boneheaded chavs in the guise of cultured men. I collapsed in bed after another night of liquid obliteration, though the nightmares woke me up with a scream.

Saturday I did brush up on my few lines, prompting myself to look at the parts academically. Alan was right, I couldn't keep empathizing with every character. It was a gamble whether I would find inspiration in my memory or monsters that would gnaw on me. Colin said the same thing, though with a bit more tact. The emotions I felt during "Hamlet" were powerful, this was a completely different situation. Playing a fucking seven-year-old boy should have been nothing, though therein lay the monster right in my reflection.

My mood somewhat improved by Sunday, but I still felt on edge. I stayed clear of the pubs that night and tried to avoid the bottles in my room; instead I allowed myself some drops of elixir before to dull a few lingering aches. I awoke a bit groggy, but able to prop myself up through class and look somewhat interested. A bit of lunch swept away the rest of the numbness.

I received a letter in my box that afternoon from Alan. The timing of this was most convenient. I sat down in a chair in the common room to peruse it before going to my next class. Before opening it I allowed myself the guess of whether he would scold me for my conduct or try to extend an olive branch, though more than likely he would want to meet me somewhere private for another chat of some nature.

_Mr. Sutcliff,_

_I though about our conversation during Thursday's rehearsal as well as discussed the contributions you have made to our organization with Professor Smithson and a few other officers in the Society._

I snickered out loud upon reading this one sentence. Why did I know where this was going?

_You are indeed quite talented and the contributions you have made have been most thoughtful. However I fear your presence has created a bit more difficulty than I anticipated. It has been two years since a student as young as you were a member of the group and that last experience lead to the unspoken rules of which I informed you during our discussion last semester. I am afraid the members of the society bear a bit more animosity towards someone of your age being there than I anticipated. For that I sincerely apologize, you have been the subject of some outright rudeness that was inexcusable._

_However I have observed your conduct has done little to remedy this, in fact your demeanor has lead to a more hostile environment. I already discussed this matter with you and hoped your more gentlemanly behavior would continue. Instead you were ruled by emotions during rehearsal and responded to my critique in a vulgar manner. I fear this clash of our hostile membership and your unbecoming demeanor has created too many distractions that I can only envision growing worse during the semester. _

I had to put the letter down and cover my mouth to keep from spilling out in laughter. A few people curiously looked over in my direction, though I took a few breaths to calm myself and continued reading.

_As I pondered how to manage this situation, I heard a few whispers that you had been sharing your difficulties with our organization rather loudly and publicly. I believe I also spoke with you about this during that first meeting and explicitly asked you to be a bit more discreet. I do not care if you share your grievances in private with a small circle of friends, though I have heard of your freely-shared remarks from multiple sources. _

I snickered again, though perhaps with a bit more nervousness though what the hell did I have to be ashamed of?

_In light of these events and after speaking to Professor Smithson and some other members of the Society, I believe it would be best if you did not take part in our organization. I do not believe this is the best environment for you and any personality clashes will create only more hostility. _

I threw my head back and cackled, drawing more than a few more looks in my direction. Fuck you all, I'm having a bit of an emotional moment! I continued for another second, hearing some side whispers of "there's a merry one," though one murmur caught my attention: "Is that Sutcliff? What's that nutter on about?"

_I will speak with the membership about their own inappropriate manners and I will tell them you had to depart because of school commitments. I would prefer you went out with a bit of dignity, I hope you would feel the same. _

_I am sure you are a most talented actor, I regret I was not able to see more of your skills in play. I wish you well in your endeavors, though I offer you a bit of friendly advice. Please mind yourself around others. You do not wish to shame yourself, your family, or your friends with loose talk and vulgar actions. I am certain you are aware of this in noble society, though school should be no exception. _

_With sincerest respects,_

_Alan Fairfield_

Tears were running down my face by now and I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Maybe I should have moved to my room and minded my reputation a bit better. Instead I cackled a bit louder. A few lads I knew in passing walked up to me and asked me what was the matter.

"Oh, I received a most droll note from a friend of mine," I said, clearing a few tears with a lingering chortle. "It tickled me a bit mightily."


	44. Part 44

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 44**

Alan apparently didn't appreciate the word that I spoke so freely of my experiences in the Chamberlain Society. Now both of us were in a better position; I could share my feelings as loudly as I wanted to and I was no longer his responsibility. I gathered a few friends in my room that night for some drinks and proudly announced my sacking from the group. The response was predictably shocked, though more in an amused manner.

I told them he didn't appreciate my humor, not to mention all of the members are raging twats. The more drinks I pounded back the more descriptive I became. Eventually I did paraphrase the contents of the letter and told some stories of my "vulgar" actions. I looked at Stephen during this, giving him a slurring apology for not heeding his advice.

"I had no bloody clue they were this bad," he said. "Fucking hell they're little bullies, proper scholars my arse."

We all toasted to this.

More drinks later I was sharing all the creative ways I would like to flay and eviscerate Alan and other members of the group by name. The laughs were starting to stiffen a bit and I noticed I was having bottles pulled away from me. "C'mon, it's only Monday," a few people said with little snickers. My hazy brain hoped I had truly been offending them.

I woke with the usual pounding head and sour stomach, a few memories lingered from a few dreams I must have had whilst obliterated. I barely remember what I dreamt, just a few flashes of blood coated walls and a grinning specter ripping my bowels out. My sheets were soaked with sweat and my body was still cold. My gut ached most of all. It was the drink, only that. I had to tell myself that over and over.

The sick feeling lingered through the day. I didn't see any of the Chamberlain Society arseholes the whole day, which was best for everyone. If I even caught sight of one of them I would be painting him across the wall and that was just the drones. If I came near Alan I doubted any of the threats I made last night would remain just words. I was in a dangerous mood all day, I resisted the urge to punch anyone who so much as glanced at me.

I sat down in the common hall at one point to keep from retching, my body calmed a bit but my nerves were still high. I sat and watched everyone pass by; hoping this would quell my rage. After a while I felt slightly more relaxed through no less ill. I watched everyone; every boy, every older man, every student, every teacher. I stared at all of them, overhearing their tawdry conversations about classes or family life or girls. How much was lurking under every conversation, how much were these ears catching they would mould into weapons later? How many words were just babble decipherable to any ear? It was one continuous drone inspiring a parade of nonsense.

I imagined all of them as little dressed-up dolls who could walk and talk, position themselves close together to create the illusion of socializing. Here we all were going into position in our pretty dollhouse, invisible hands moving us around according to a storyline we could not hear all the while thinking all our actions were our own. I pulled my legs to a stand and hastily walked off, this manner of thinking was wearing on me.

As my headache cleared, I took advantage of a small break by taking some elixir and going right to sleep. I would have welcomed walking around numb than having my thoughts torment me like this. Alas I awoke with my mind in a fouler state and my body barely able to do anything.

I counted at least twice the instructor in my next class called out my name out loud and chastised me for nodding off at my desk. By the end of class I was coherent enough to deliver some points the professor praised, not without a few ribbings of "You will better contribute if you get a proper sleep." Of course this conjured some chuckles from my classmates. Twitter little pigeons, twitter.

I met up with some friends later that evening, everyone asking me how my head was, some advising me to go easy on the liquor with little chuckles.

"Now how strong is your urge to disembowel those bastards?" Stephen said, I tried holding back my grimace at his wording. "I know last night I thought you were going to get a knife and do it."

The boys snickered at this.

"The desire hasn't waned, only the passion," I said with a smile. "Though I can make more precise cuts while sober, aim the blade in the right areas to hit the choicest nerves. Maybe enjoy the screaming a bit more."

Oh look at all those shifty eyes, all those uncomfortable twitches, the way they laugh as if I have just told a bawdy joke. I entertained them with a bit of speculation on what noises those bastards would make whilst being flayed. They looked down at their drinks and exchanged nervous glances. I was the fucking life of the party now, wasn't I?

"Grell, you're angry, you have every reason to be angry," said one friend named Harold holding up a hand. "If it makes you feel better we'll make sure the word is out that these blighters are hardly proper gentlemen. I just know how talk like this leads to pounding someone and creating more of a mess."

I looked at him with a bemused expression for a moment. Who said I wanted to just pound on him? Was I not being taken seriously? His slightly flustered tone of voice told me a little more.

"You're afraid I'm going to walk up to the twat and bash his head in?" I asked. "You think I would do only that? You think my threats are so empty?"

I took a sip from my glass whilst staring at Harry. I heard a few dirty chuckles from the boys, Harry joined in too though I swore I saw some sweat on his brow.

"Well that goes for eviscerating him too," Harry said. "Whichever, it's not going to go well for you either way."

A few of the boys chuckled again, I joined in.

"Don't worry, he's not worth soiling my clothes for," I said.

We all laughed heartily, I still heard some strains in each voice and saw some more uncomfortable shifting. I was giving them some comfort now, but I could take it all away with a few well-placed words. That felt good.

I gave the boys my word I wouldn't bloody up Fairfield or any of the others, knowing it wasn't necessarily a promise I could keep. I could easily tail him from his room without being noticed, though it would be even easier to send him a note asking for a private meeting to make amends. Even then I doubted I could get near him without someone noticing or trying to intervene in the first place. What the hell did I have to gain from cutting his throat anyway? If I did kill him I would be the most obvious suspect. Anything I did do to him would only make him a martyr; a proper gentleman compared to this young hooligan.

No, he wasn't worth any effort; he was a piece of shit floating in a river. That didn't prevent me from imagining what his voice sounded like in a scream or all the places I could cut to produce a series of lovely fountains. How nice it would be for him to play Duncan to my Macbeth; it would be a far better production than he could ever direct.

I entertained the thought of such a production as the rest of the children continued prattering on about something else. I barely paid any attention, it was all just twittering drivel. I did go easy on the bottle in their presence to humor them, which made the conversation that much more boring. I made up for lost time upon returning to my room, being by myself with a bottle of cognac was much more entertaining than that bloody conversation turned out to be. How lovely it was to spend a Tuesday night in my own oblivion instead of the company of a bunch of festering arseholes.

I must have passed out at one point because I awoke to the bell on my watch. Thankfully I had plenty of time to dress and hobble to class, even took part in a an intelligent discussion on Caesar's motives. At least someone in this bloody institution respected my opinions on classic characters, though how many were just politely keeping their mouths shut? How many were just listening along with smiling faces like my friends had been every time I opened my mouth? Then again inane drivel seemed to be the common tongue here.

I kept to polite words in front of everyone, no one was listening to anything I said anyway. My friends suggested a few different activities in which I could take part. I was asked how skilled I was in cricket, apparently the team was holding tryouts at the beginning of next term. Perhaps I could audition for the choir next fall. I simply said I would keep my options open, I more interested in keeping to my studies at the moment. In truth I was less interested in joining another group of boors who would insult and harangue everything I did. Deep down I was as disinterested in having more boors shallowly sing my praises. That's all life was here; currying favor and ripping others apart.

I stumbled through my end of term exams and had a month of free time to look forward to. I had already told Jacob I was staying put through the holiday, catching up on studying and reading requirements for my next set of classes. As for those, I took as many general courses as I could to round out my first year. What the hell, get those out of the way; I didn't bloody care. Perhaps I should give some thought to a major soon, though I wasn't exactly looking forward to sealing my fate in engineering. I knew that was what I would end up doing, the small hope existed I could major in literature or music though a voice in my brain told me not to fool myself.

Courses ended, time opened up, I studied a bit those first days just to say I did it. More time to myself meant more time with the inhabitants of this school. Everyone was so polite, but you could always hear the little snips under the breath or the subtle eye rolls. I would pass through the hallway hoping to hear an argument or a cry or a heartfelt speech, something to tell me someone in this place had some sincere emotions. All masks remained firmly in place.

I did have the privilege of passing by a few familiar faces from the Chamberlain Society of Whores. Every view of them made me ill on sight. Most avoided any eye contact with me, those that did would stare at me before smirking. Oh how I wanted to rip all their fucking faces off; I could name several different farming tools that could peel the skin from a man's head in a second. Just the thought of going at their eyes with a sharp rake made their presence a little more tolerable. After a while I had to pull myself back to my normal paces and not stab any of them in the eye with a pen knife or knock their teeth out with a book.

Everyday I would read or wander. Then I would spend time with my closer companions and get scolded over how much I was drinking or how much my witty jokes were getting little tired or how I was being too dark. I would drink even more and tell even more gruesome tales to shove it in their faces, savoring some gasps and nervous chuckles from others in earshot.

Other nights I would hop from pub to pub with my other companions. I barely knew any of their names, we were all too drunk to pay attention. All of them thought everything out of my mouth from an observation on the weather to descriptions of how veal is made were just one fucking joke after another. I recall being called a harlequin more than a few times; that simply encouraged me a bit more.

My "closer friends" must have noticed they had a bit of competition. One night they took me to a coffeehouse for a night of light chatter, I barely counted how many comments were made about "enjoying the simpler pleasures" or "learning to relax a bit." The repeated pleasant suggestions of how coffee can be even more fun than wine felt like little stinging slaps across my hand.

Oh I certainly relaxed. I stayed to coffee and tea and shared a collection of the filthiest, nastiest jokes from my memory, watching them laugh along and squirm. I wondered how many descriptions of dripping sausages I could make before someone chastised me for being so vile. My friends kept up their smiling faces, looking so amused. I was simply savoring some of the gasps and yells from the patrons around me. Finally the shopkeeper threw the lot of us out for such indecent talk.

"Someone lacks a sense of humor," David said as we walked out.

Someone lacks a sense of sincerity.

There were few other nights out with these boys after that. By the beginning of term, David and Alvin were becoming a bit scarcer as was Harry and a few other boys. Stephen and Henry still would invite me for a chat, though they seemed a bit more guarded.

I just got tired of all the fake bastards around me. Finally term started and I had the pleasant distraction of classes and studying in earnest. The newness wore off by the end of the week. I would pay attention long enough to make it look as if I cared. I learned the art of coming to class after a drop of elixir or a few glasses of brandy and looking upright.

I was spending more nights in my room, the goal of studying was foremost in my mind at the beginning of the night, though by the end I was simply amusing myself with a glass in hand. The bottles I brought from London were slowly dying out, though I bulked up my collection a little more from local shops. It was mostly cheaper stuff, but cheaper usually meant stronger.

It was Easter when I heard the cry of the lady, the first time since that fateful day in August. I felt bad for neglecting her, for instead minding these insincere gentleman I thought I was part of. She begged me to put her in her beautiful red dress, she cried to me to make her look beautiful. That dress sat in that trunk since August right before her marriage to Lord Oxford. Lord Oxford was a hopelessly dull man, his associates continuously ignored or insulted her. She felt oh so ugly and unwanted, now she wanted to feel beautiful again.

Later that night I locked the door, slapped back a few glasses of port, and dug that gorgeous dress from the trunk. It was a bit rumpled in places but still breathtaking. The fabric slid on, though fastening the corset was proving a little more difficult. The dress felt so tight through the midsection, it wasn't draping as well as it had a few months ago and fastening the bodice strings was more of an effort. She whimpered, desperately trying to tie the cords to where they had been before though the horrifying truth was right before her. Months of injury and sitting around behind desks had deposited some bulk onto some areas.

I tried to calm her down, call her beautiful but nothing could remedy this. She started wailing, screaming how ugly she was, how fat she became, how much her new life took away her beauty. As should have been anticipated, there was a knock on the door.

"Sutcliff, are you all right?" I heard some boy say outside. "Open the bloody door."

"No, go away," she yelled at them. "It's none of your fucking business! I'm not showing my ugly face to anyone! What man wants to see a lady like this?"

She collapsed on the bed and sobbed hard.

"Sutcliff, lay off the bloody booze; you're making an arse of yourself!" another voice called.

"Just leave him, I don't even want to know what the hell he's doing right now," another said.

I reassured the lady she was still beautiful, she would always be beautiful. What was a little padding? Such happens to anyone when they go through difficulties; nothing can be so perfect all the time. Oh how I envied her; a pretty lady whose only responsibility was entertaining and looking beautiful. She didn't have to worry about an education or business. Men were held to so many more ideals; be witty, be sociable, be handsome, spend your life toiling at a desk to make money, remain fashionable yet debonair.

This checklist was still in my head as I awoke on the floor, looking at the clock and seeing I had slept through my entire first class. I was going to get an earful about this, I was going to hear even more sideways comments from my classmates. Fuck them all, why should I care? I ventured out for lunch later, one lad approached me asking what the racket was the other night. I simply said I was having an odd dream. I did appreciate the little snicker he had as he walked away; at least someone was being honest.

I was stopped and asked similar questions throughout the day, I gathered most of the East Wing was talking about this. I savored the attention even if it was at my expense. One person who ended up saying nothing to me was the professor who's class I missed. I went to his class on Wednesday bright and early, only getting an ugly glance in return. I was about to apologize for my unexcused absence, but didn't feel like getting a lecture. Yes I fouled up and he was cross about it, shall we move on now?

I endeavored to stay on better behavior through the week, the tiny part of my pride that still gave a toss was aching from all the attention. Foremost I needed to stop getting blind drunk. I enjoyed a glass of wine or beer at meals and kept it to that. By the weekend I had a headache that did not seem to go away and I was a bit more on edge. A drop of elixir took care of this problem, though only for a few hours at a time. By Monday I had learned the perfect amount of laudanum to take to keep calm yet still functioning.

Swapping booze for laudanum did put me in a bit more of a calm mood, though I was a bit more grumpy and snippy. My hazy mind shared some witticisms with people who so much as looked at me, I recall being called a nutter and an arsehole multiple times. I did find myself catching up on a bit more studying, even spending a bit of time in the library. I was by myself most of this time. I did run into Stephen and Henry in the library, I tried to engage them in a pleasant chat though the amount of shifting and watch checking they did before hurriedly leaving told me volumes .

By the end of the week I gleefully took up the offer from another passing acquaintance to join the usual lot in the pubs on Friday night. Everything was so bloody boring, I could use a night of relaxing plus I would take any willing company right now.

Friday felt like returning to an odd sense of normality, I was finally in the presence of some jovial company. We passed from pub to pub singing, laughing, telling jokes. No one cared about propriety; we were all just getting pissed together. I sampled the rums then the ales, dancing in the street and greeting everyone passing by me. I recall entertaining everyone on the street with a few lines from some poem that came to mind, trying to give embraces but feeling sad my goodwill was rejected. There was one friendly young man who put an arm around my shoulder, asking me what college I went to.

The next thing I remember I was waking up at first light, the sun's rays searing through my skull. I was lying on my covers in my clothes again; a regular occurrence. I managed to get up and start changing. Then I reached into my pocket, feeling nothing but lint where a watch and a small coin purse had been. I looked all around my room, finding nothing. I would have panicked though my aching head and surging stomach muted those passions.

I left my room to a thousand scattered snickers amongst the rest of the East Wing. No one said anything to me directly, just smirked and went about their business. I overheard a few murmurs of "constable escort" with my name. It didn't take long before I put all the pieces together. Where the hell did my "friends" go last night? I assumed I was left alone then likely delivered back to Chamberlain by a friendly constable, that had to have drawn a bit of attention. It still didn't answer the question of where the fuck was my watch and my purse? The situation only caused me to consider numerous theories.

The constable must have lifted it, those bastards are corrupt thieves anyway. More likely I was pick pocketed by some passing miscreant, though there was one plausibility that made me want to have a little chat with whoever I was out with last night. I went through the day feeling like a carriage rolled over my head and gut, my lost possessions only dug the wheel in further. That purse had about a pound in it, though thankfully it was only spare change compared to what was sitting nicely in a bank a few blocks away. That watch, however, was a little more valuable.

It was the watch Jacob gave me on my birthday; the one with the pretty red flowers and my initials in the cover. Now it was gone, chain and all. I felt like an utter knob; such a precious gift was lost due to my own stupidity. How the hell was I going to explain this to him? Simple, I was pick pocketed; it happens all the time. He wouldn't be happy about it but what the hell could I do? It would be best not to mention it unless he brought it up, I would simply be too proud to admit I lost it due to my own inattention in a rough crowd.

I kept my eyes open for any of my disloyal companions from the previous night. I had the great fortune of finding Abram, the lad who invited me out, a few steps out the door from the dining hall that evening. He saw me, I saw his eyes shift away for a moment though he had no choice but to face me head on. Finally he greeted me like a lost friend.

"Bloody hell, are you all right," Abram said. "You wandered off, we were looking all over for you."

"Well I was found, thank you for your concern and you vigilance," I politely hissed.

"You know how it is, Grell, we were just as much on the breeze as you were," Abram said, how I loved that little nervous snicker. "I think you may have been a little ahead of us."

"And I was certainly behind you, I'm sure you've been hearing the news about my safe return to campus," I replied, leaning a little closer in his face.

I am a man of modest stature, though he was a bit lower in height by a few inches. I drew a little closer so I could lean in more and see more of his shifty eyes; the view from here was breathtaking.

"I'm sorry about last night, mate; that was rude of us to leave you behind like that and you have my word we'll be more careful," he said.

"Yes rude to leave me behind to be taken home by some constable and wake with a lighter pocket," I said with a stiff snicker.

His eyes slightly widened.

"Oh blast, chap, that's rotten luck."

"Rotten luck by environment or company? I sincerely hope it is not the latter."

I folded my arms and glared at him. His mouth slightly dropped and I swore I saw a sheen of sweat across his brow.

"Are you bloody serious?" Abram said, his jovial tone now serious. "Are you truly implying it was any of us?"

"Not implying, simply inquiring. We are all honorable men here, though men of different situations and versions of humor and all of us were in intimate company last night. I lost a watch my brother gave me and my coin purse. If any similar items are floating around in your company I do hope you will be the bigger man."

He sighed hard and looked away for a moment, his jaw stiffening and his fingers curling.

"Yeah because there weren't a thousand other arseholes roaming around with sticky fingers, though I doubt you noticed a damn thing," Abram retorted. "You were so pissed last night you're bloody lucky you just got you pocket picked, you rich tit."

My fingers found a hold over his Adam's apple, squeezing enough to make him shiver though he continued glaring at me.

"Fine, I'll give you and your soused little cronies the benefit of the doubt," I said, squeezing enough to make him flail a little. "If you happen to find a red silk purse and a gold watch adorned with my initials and little red flowers somewhere among your company, I trust you to do the honorable thing and return them to me. If I find any of those items anywhere near you or your friends, you will be found on a table in a physiology class with your organs on full display; whether as a cadaver or a live subject depends on how hearty you are."

I loosened my grip on his throat, he practically scrambled away and ran like a rabbit leaving a cage. I walked away, my face aching with how much I was smiling. I knew I would never be invited to join those boys again, personally I didn't care.

I did notice by Monday a few boys I passed were giving me double takes or avoiding my glance altogether, some skittering away at the sight of me. I was sure Abram told his chums and then some about our little encounter, likely an altered version. I found myself actually enjoying this manner of notoriety. This time I wasn't just a drunken fool, now they were taking me seriously. I made a point to politely greet every lad who turned their gaze away or started walking in the opposite direction. It was indeed far better to be feared.

Notoriety did become a little old after a while. By now no one was coming near me, I had to entertain myself. This was yet another enticement to do more school work. I was sure my marks for this term were not going to be very flattering. I barely did any readings and hastened through my essays at the last minute, not to mention all the classes I showed up late to or skipped altogether. I tried to feel guiltier about this than I did, by now I just didn't care.

My only concern was the potential of an ugly conversation with Jacob or Matthew for poor marks. Hopefully they would never get word of my poor decorum, though I had to prepare myself for the worse. The more sobering thought was the possibility Matthew would count such word as the type of third-party reporting that would lead to the worst for me. I was surprised at how little this scared me, though perhaps I shouldn't have been. Everything was crashing to ruins around me, everything was rubbish and dust to me now. I was content to sit back and watch everything burn. I did start withdrawing a few funds from my bank account, just a little each week to not be obvious. One can never be too careful.

I shared my struggles with my lady, pouring her a glass and confessing all my deepest fears. How difficult it truly was being a man in society, how many expectations were put on my shoulders. She scoffed a little at me, as if women didn't have their own burdens. Women had to be even more pristine, not to mention pure or motherly. I told her how I envied her; how nice would it be for my hand to be promised to a handsome man. How I would love to wear such beautiful garments so openly. My station in life would be wife, hostess, and mother; how lovely would it be to just be nurturing and kind, pay attention to all the latest gossip and spend all day socializing.

What would it be like to carry a child, I said to her; have a little life inside me I would bring into the world. Now I just provided the seed, nothing more. Mothers were the lovely ones, mothers were the ones who eased away all fears and protected their little ones. Fathers were just a bother; they only spilt their load in the right place at the right time and thought they owned what came about. Fathers could never understand their offspring, they could only push it about.

They could wave an axe in its face, they could hold it still and force it to watch a precious creature having its throat cut. Blood everywhere, screaming, shivering in fear, bodies lying on the floor, oh no don't let him hear me.

I shrieked and threw my glass against the wall. Predictably there came the voices from outside.

"What's with the bloody racket!"

"You talkin' to your imaginary friend, Sutcliff?"

"Bloody nutter."

I simply sat down and poured myself another drink, chasing it with a little elixir to get me to completely go down. I awoke in my chair with my head swimming. The dress still on, my first two classes of the day already passed; I was just content to sit there until I got my bearings.

In between the wary glances of peers and repeated scoldings from professors, I made more time for evening visits with the lady. She was my only true companion now, though I reminded myself a few times she was simply a personage I created in my head. What did that matter; perhaps my only truest companion was myself. She didn't feel separate, though it wasn't as if I were hearing voices. She was the side of myself I locked away, the side that defied all propriety, perhaps the part of my intellect more honest and wise than anything produced by this society.

She asked me not to fret so much about my status or my worries. Just have a few drinks, relax, maybe read a little poetry or sing with her. Savor the simpler pleasures, she said. I knew from her these words were sincere. She had such a lovely singing voice, I was astounded at the high notes she could reach. We learned to ignore the passing comments from outside; it was just us in this room.

It was just me lounging in my parlor wearing my finest gown. I was a goddess here. The world scorned me and refused to understand, but who needs petty people. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw nothing but the breathtaking woman I was. Oh how I loved putting up my red hair into different styles, trying different things with powder and kohl to bring out the blue in my eyes. Then I would have to take off all my lovely clothes and put on a suit. A suit! Imagine such a lovely woman like me in such a dull suit, pulling my hair back into a tight ponytail to look proper. Though eventually I would accept the suit, I would wear a few more lacy cravats and curl my hair a little. I was also wearing a bit more powder; it was dated yes but handsome men just looked so much better with a little decorating.

The I would look in the mirror and remind myself that was indeed who I was; a dashing gent all the other lads were eyeing. The lady would put her hands on my shoulder and whisper how handsome I was. No one paid any mind to me because they were all afraid of their sinful urges. I could see how they looked away from me they were eying my taught hindquarters and guessing how long I was in the trousers. All of them wanted me to bend them over and skewer them, I only looked on them as if I was waiting or them to say so; sorry you get none of this until you ask for it.

In the evening I would peel off my gentlemanly garb and slide my form into that gorgeous dress; I could go from a handsome gent to a beautiful woman with just a little primping. The difference a little costuming makes, I could be anyone I wanted to be. That was all that mattered, I could be who I wanted to and no one else. Let these fools have their games, I was my own person. I was a series of masks, but at least I knew which ones I wore.

The lady and I had a lovely discussion on this one night over a few glasses; reputation was nonsense, it was the individual that mattered. The conversation sounded more deep and intelligent with more brandy. Our intelligent discourse was reduced to giggling the more we had, soon we decided to enjoy each other's company a bit more intimately. I laid her back in the chair, gently lifting her dress and taking gentle hold of her secret. I wanted her to feel relaxed, like a queen being pampered.

I barely started catering to her whims when I heard the slightest snicker outside the door. I yelled at whoever was there to fuck off, only more giggling in return and this time louder. I wouldn't stand for this rudeness. I got up from the chair and stormed to the door, about to give a piece of my mind or all of my fist. I threw the door open and stormed out, seeing a small group of boys standing just a few feet away. Their eyes opened wide and their jaws dropped, shocked I heard them probably.

"I'm getting sick of this rudeness!" I barked at the lot of them.

They started laughing even louder. I walked up to one of the boys and gave him a swift knock across the face, he shifted to the side and I swing at him again. Alas I missed, but the laughter died down a bit. I started kicking him, shouting every rude thing that came to mind. Arms held me from behind and pulled me back; I kicked and flailed, screaming at them for treating a lady so roughly. I kicked another right in the groin, another got my nails across his face.

I got a firm smack across my head in return and a grunt to shut up. I only fought harder, though my legs were giving and my voice was turning more to sobs. I was shaking so hard I stopped fighting back and allowed myself to get dragged away, accepting whatever fate awaited me. I was thrown back and landed on the floor in my room, my elbow smacking against the desk. I crumpled to the floor wailing, hearing the door slam and someone bark, "Fucking stay in there!"

It's all right, my lady. You should never have been subjected to this brutality. I'll protect you, you're always safe with me. I coaxed her to get off the floor and into bed, helping her remove her dress and get into a soft gown. I promised her I would dress her wounds in the morning. Just rest, my dear. I lay her back and finished pleasing her, she deserved it after tonight. We drifted to a peaceful sleep together, a sleep we desperately needed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **The next chapter is very much in progress and will be out soon. So there is going to be much more where this came from

I want to make it very clear that I not implying in any way, shape, or form that Grell's personality and sexual or gender expressions are solely the product of drunken behavior or "insanity." However substance abuse and personal crises do have ways of releasing highly repressed emotions and behaviors. Grell's true self is in the process of being unleashed, not generated. Our little Grell is growing up (sniff). I hope you'd see that anyway, but I just wanted to make it clear.


	45. Part 45

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 45**

I awoke to aching, everything was sore. My usual headache was only spiced up by my swollen eye and stiff hand. All these stings and bruises reminded me exactly what happened the night before, the crumpled dress on the floor reinforced the truth of the seemingly ridiculous tale.

I managed to sit up in bed as all the realizations washed over me. It was over, the secret was out; by now everyone in the East Wing, if not the whole school knew about the dress. I could write off the loose molly talk with the Chamberlain twats or the drunken, witty ramblings with my former associates, but his would be a little harder to smooth over. I knew I was sitting in my small hole as everything blew up.

If I was lucky this could be dismissed as a drunken antic too; perhaps I pilfered the dress from a whore and found it whilst pissing drunk and thought it a good idea to play. That would be my story if anyone asked, though everyone else would be writing their own; theirs would be more accurate.

I pondered this harder, then started chuckling. This was all so gloriously bizarre and brilliant. As mortified as I was with the thought of such a tender secret being out, it almost felt liberating. Still it wasn't as if I stood in the hallway and proclaimed my affinity for sodomy, loudly naming every man I ever buggered. The laughing boys could only draw loose assumptions, though those loose assumptions could travel; even beyond the walls of this school.

I have often found one of the boons and banes to being hung-over are you are trapped in one place with your thoughts. Your head is screaming, your body does not want to move one inch to avoid retching, and your mind tries to make sense of your situation whilst trapped. Such a haze creates the grounds for heavy thinking, but not clear thinking. Regardless of how logical my thinking was, my brain was working enough for me to know this type of shit could extend to London. All it would take was for some noble idiot to share a few amusing stories with someone back home for my reputation to go straight into the sewer. Lord Alvin and Mr. David had been close enough to me to be dangerous, but I knew so many more boys around me were of societal leanings and knew who I was.

I lay back in my bed in a fit of giggles, my mirth only slightly muted by the stab of pain through my head. I was tuning my fiddle as the first flames came into sight. I had nicely fucked myself over, hadn't I? All the implications made me positively giddy.

I eventually dressed and left for my first class. I would be right on time for once, not like that would make any difference. I walked down the hallways to a fanfare of double-takes and giggles, little whispered comments peppered me like confetti and marchers followed their proper choreography of skittering away from me or gawking at me. Some more enthusiastic crowd members greeted me with "Morning molly," and "Mess up your dress, poof?" I greeted everyone along the parade route with a smile and a polite word in response.

"Good morning to you too."

"Oh it certainly was rough last night, thank you for your concerns."

It was all like a warm mineral bath and I was soaking in it with a smile.

By the end of the day I was disappointed at the lack of variety in everyone's insults. I counted at least ten times the term "molly" was used, eight times was I called a "barking nutter" or variations, and five seven times was I told to stay away from someone's britches. Someone was kind to me; one lad pulled me aside and invited me to read the Good Book with him to cleanse me of my sins.

"My apologies, chap, I like my sins where they are," I replied and walked off, savoring how his little mouth stiffened and his eyes narrowed.

The novelty of this started to wear off after the second day. I was admiring how increasingly creative the diatribes were after the third day. This whole time no one came directly at me with fists or thrown objects. Perhaps they all were too gentlemanly, or maybe they were scared I might hit back harder. I was certainly ready for this possibility. I stayed in populated areas and avoided wandering too far out at night. I knew where the scamps liked to set traps because I was one such scamp myself.

Ironic isn't it that I'm the sheep amidst wolves; divine providence likely, perhaps fate teaching me a lesson. The lesson I learned was I was far tougher than any of the brats I wailed on at King's Crest. I wasn't holding my head down in fear, I wasn't running off in the face of taunts and scrambling to my room with wimpy boy tears. All of this was so entertaining; how good it felt to see all these proper academic gents turning into uncultured animals with just a few tossed words. It was a fascinating glimpse into humanity.

I made many critics but had no friends left. With just a few fell words and a plummeting reputation I was a pariah to those who I called friend just a few months ago; that was if they ever could be called friends. I passed by Stephen in the hallway and he didn't even look at me, I greeted Henry and only received a passing smile in return before he hurried right off. I didn't see Alvin or David; though I was sure I was their favorite subject in letters back home to Marquis Messer and Baronet Denton. To hell with all of them; some friends they turned out to be.

It did get a bit lonely going to my room and getting drunk alone. Perhaps such was the price of my foolishness. Most of this was my fault, I actively pushed everyone away; perhaps I was actually regretting it. I knew I dug my own hole and it was a deep one. If I was this reviled now what the hell would happen by the end of the term or even next year? Would I have to endure four more years of this? I didn't want to think too much on this possibility.

I ended up folding the dress back up and putting it in a trunk, then sat with a glass of wine spiced with a little laudanum. I told the lady I didn't want to subject her to any more cruelty. To my utter astonishment she was rather chipper about the whole thing. I heard her voice in my numb state telling me how glad she was to come out at last. There was no more hiding, no more careful secrecy; she loved the attention even if it was violent. I felt the stings she didn't, that was how I protected her; though perhaps I hurt more having her so exposed.

Perhaps I was the brute who wanted to keep her locked away. Perhaps I was the idiot who only pretended she was so separate from me. The idiots talked about my "imaginary friend" or the "voice in my head." Such was the case because I had made it so. I realized how guilty I felt that she were such a part of me, why did this have to be such a horrible secret? Why did I have to be such a stuck-up git, was I truly a man of society or was that another mask.

She was a part of me after all, perhaps I was she. What if I was the fake one, the persona she put on to function in a man's world? What if we both were puppets for some other form of consciousness; what if this body was not mine but someone else's and I was but a spectator personality? What was my real face and what was a mask? I honestly had no idea.

Pondering such philosophies in in a drunk, numb haze bit enjoyable. By the fourth day so were the various creative snips people were taking in my direction, but the passion seemed to die a little. What wasn't enjoyable was the pleasant little note that appeared in my box from the Dean's Office.

_Mr. Sutcliff,_

_It is our duty to inform you that you are under disciplinary review on the charges of:_

_-Minor Assault_

_-Disturbing the peace_

_-Offensive behavior_

_Following an alleged fighting incident in the Second Floor hallway of the East Wing on the 28__th__ of April, 1778. These combined offenses carry a fine of £5 and a written warning placed on your record. You are hereby summoned to appear before the Senior Dean on Thursday, the 14__th__ of May at 9 o'clock in the morning for further inquiry and to answer to these accusations. _

Wasn't this a lovely little development? I was so bloody popular with the kids, now I was gaining attention from the big men. This was exactly what I fucking needed. At least it seemed as if this was something they were dealing with as discretely as possible. Hopefully their discretion involved nary a word to the ones footing my bill, but knowing my luck dearest brothers would find out anyway. This would most certainly count as third party reporting, this was the exact type of bollocks Matthew didn't want to hear…or rather he did for the same reasons.

I only had to laugh thinking of my whole situation. What a mess, what a glorious mess. I knew I fouled up; perhaps answering to it would build character or something. I could only prepare a sweet speech and get my penitent mask ready for the summons. I did take another look at my bank account and put back in some of the money I withdrew. I wanted enough on me in case I had to dash, though it would be best to have all of it in one protected place when the time came to scramble. As much as the thought lingered I was being a bit too dramatic about the whole situation, the little voice of warning in my brain was a bit louder.

Perhaps this message did have some favorable results. I forewent rum in favor of a small glass of wine that night…with a drop of elixir in it. Getting drunk just resulted in noise, laudanum was nice and quiet; it matched my mood a bit better. Somehow I was getting a little more reading done, perhaps I studied better whilst numb than drunk. The morning after was a bit gentler too; not as much of a headache and my stomach was more in a state of mild protest than all out mutiny. The grogginess made me less aware of the whispers and the snips in my direction; I didn't care if some lad jumped away from me and scolded me for getting too close when I simply stepped within a foot of him.

This was becoming an enjoyable routine. I would come back to my room, put a small bit of elixir into a glass, and sit back and contemplate. How nice it was just to sit in my chair, feeling the warmth of peace over me, watching how everything in front of me turned to watery waves. I did become part of the furniture during my nights of relaxation; doing nothing but contemplating the walls and the inside of my head. By now I was scribbling out my essays and skimming the reading. In the morning, I would go to classes and take notes, though I barely ever listened.

I was truly relaxed when the day came for my time with the Dean. I dug out my academic robes and went dutifully to the big chambers. I walked into a room before a small group of men sitting at serious desks with serious expressions. I recognized a few of them from my entrance exam. They saw me at my rise, here they were at my fall. I put on my own mask of seriousness and stood dutifully before them; a puppet stilled in a display of solemnity.

The Senior Dean, Professor Chadwick, read the accusations rather dourly. Apparently they spoke with a number of the boys I bruised up and quite a few wittnesses. Professor Chadwick asked me if I disputed any of these accusations.

"No sir, I honestly cannot deny anything," I said plainly.

I had nothing to dispute or hide. I attributed this whole fiasco to drunken obnoxiousness on my part, sounding reasonably remorseful at my inappropriate behavior. As expected, there were questions about the dress, though I wasn't hearing any righteous indignation in any of their voices. I did prepare a little story for them; I told them how I had worn dresses in my theater company in London, part of the old tradition of men playing women's roles. I said I was writing my own script and wore the dress to get into the character of my female protagonist. I may have been doing this after a few too many glasses and may have forgotten my attire when hearing the taunts outside my door. I was ashamed and went in clumsy fists first.

I swore I saw a few nodding heads and apathetic grimaces. I had a feeling they would be willing to write this off as inebriated antics as opposed to a grave act of unnaturality or a sign of serious derangement.

"We are aware that you were a member of the Chamberlain theatrical group last term," Professor Chadwick said. "Professor Smithson approached us, apparently after hearing some word of our actions. He said you had been asked to leave the group due to offensive behavior of some nature."

I maintained my calm expression, heavily resisting the urge to guffaw rather loudly. I simply nodded sadly.

"Alas, Professor Smithson likely did not tell you about the incessant harassment and ridicule I received from members of his fine organization simply for being a younger student," I piped right up. "I simply played along and tried to show a bit of wit and in turn I was the one accused of vulgar behavior."

"Did you receive a rather aggressive christening, Mr. Sutcliff?" another member of the board said.

"That is putting it mildly," I replied. "I was the first member of the company younger than twenty they have allowed in two years and they made sure I knew how unwelcome I was."

I saw a few raised eyebrows and a few backs adjust from slouching to at mild attention. They heard something of apparent interest.

"Mr. Sutcliff, where did you hear that they did not allow students younger than twenty?" another man said. "There are few organizations with age restrictions in their charters and I do not recall the Chamberlain Society as one of them."

I kept my still expression, though I felt as if someone handed me a lovely golden shovel with which to properly bury something.

"Mr. Alan Fairfield, the company's president, told me thus himself," I replied. "I had initially inquired about the organization with Professor Smithson and received a verbal pat on the head and shooing hand away for being so young. Mr. Fairfield did invite me into the organization, telling me it was an unspoken policy they would not accept any student under twenty. He insisted I could be an exception; apparently I seemed more talented and mature than anyone else my age. My being an exception meant I could be given as many insults and cold shoulders as possible, including from Mr. Fairfield himself. Apparently his meaning of mature equated to silent and docile to repeated harangues, playing back meant being 'vulgar.'"

A few glances were exchanged around the table and I saw a few notes being taken down. I remained calm but felt my being glow in the malicious glee radiating from my heart.

"Regardless of what may or may not have occurred with that one organization, this one incident is coming in the midst of a steady decline in your marks and performance," Professor Halliwell, the Academic Dean said. "We took a look at notes from your instructors this term; there are many complaints about tardiness or truancy from classes in addition to sloppy work and the occasional nodding off in class. This is a sharp contrast to your performance in your first two terms."

"This one incident and your poor performance this term tells us the story of a young man whose discipline and will to succeed is waning," Professor Chadwick said.

I could only nod in response. Everything was falling into a mess.

"I cannot disagree with your assessment," I replied with a properly dramatic sigh. "I confess the fiasco with the Chamberlain Society did break my heart and remove my confidence. I simply stopped caring. I have also suffered a number of fallings out with my closest friends, leaving me rather despondant and melancholy."

The dramatic speech still felt like wasted breath regardless of how moved or unmoved these gents would be. I was saying empty words to save me, though did I truly want to be saved?

"We sympathize for your hardship, Mr. Sutcliff, though you do have responsibilities to maintain regardless of your clubs or friends," Professor Chadwick said. "You are first and foremost a student of this school; if you continue to fail in these duties I do not see a future for you at this institution. These are the first rumblings that need to be steeled now or they will lead to a full on collapse. You entered this university with an entrance exam that was sheer poetry and spent two terms as a model student. It saddens us to see such a promising student slide this far, though I believe there is ample room for you to pull yourself back up."

The hearing ended, I was told to look for their written notice of decision within the week and walked off to my usual pathetic routine. Apparently Professor Chadwick thought I was a wayward sheep in need of being pulled back into the flock; I should have taken that as an encouraging development. Perhaps this would be shrugged off as boys being boys, perhaps this was meant to be one large warning against my apathy. I would receive a warning, maybe a modest fine, and shooed along my merry way to being a heartwarming tale of reform.

That night I toasted repeatedly to my imminent reclamation. Hopefully I would drink enough to make me feel joyous, or perhaps I would get so drunk I would do something that could not be conveniently overlooked. Instead I passed out and awoke a few hours before my next class. Somehow I was a little disappointed.

It was such glorious irony that the one letter of any interest I received in my box was from dearest Jacob. Maybe he learned of the proceedings against me and was announcing my bastardization. Instead it was a cheery note asking me what I had planned for the summer. Term was ending in a month, he wanted to know if somehow I was planning a summer adventure with friends or if I intended to return to London.

_Should you return to London, Matthew and I do believe it would be best if you returned to the office for the summer. You can put the knowledge you gained in your first year to good use and return to school with some extra coin. I will confess you have been greatly missed._

Jacob named a few choice parties coming up for the season and rumors of a few members of the royal family who might be there. I skimmed over the letter, feeling bile rise in my throat. So this was what I had to look forward to this summer; more hours at a desk, more parlors filled with politely fake chatter, more time alone in yet another room with yet another collection of bottles, though there would be Meresey Hall. I still felt a sting of guilt for neglecting them over Christmas, perhaps I could make up for lost time; that was if they had any room for me at all.

I should have been glad there were no chastisements and no word of any fell rumors about me. Though there was one last paragraph.

_You would be interested to know I spoke with a Baronet Denton a few weeks ago. Apparently you and his son David are school chums. The Baronet said you sound like a "most ribald individual" from what he has heard. I knew that sounded just like you, you are ever the charming joker._

Yes, the "charming joker." I'm sure that's exactly what David told his father about me. I was glad I was in my own room when I read this, I could chortle as loudly a I wanted and not offend anyone. I laughed merrily as I fed the letter to a candle flame and threw the burning embers in the fireplace, my laughs forming into a few curses for Jacob and Matthew and David and all the rich arseholes and the office and everyone I would be expected to curtsey to for four months. And then after four months in London I would return here for more of the same shit that was going on now.

Now I wanted Matthew to get wind of my predicament, I wished someone would write him with full illustrations of how I looked in that gown and precise testimony of how many people I put my fists to. I wished to receive a letter from the Dean informing me I had been expelled from this institution and to leave immediately.

I went to class after class with the idea of a utopia forming in my mind; a land of freedom and sin, a place where the handsome men were abundant and no one gave a fuck about what the lady had under her skirt. A place where I could spend my days with caring, sympathetic friends; my nights onstage in front of adoring audiences in the company of true dedicated actors and able directors who would truly help me hone my craft. A world where reputation meant nothing and everyone wore their truest mask.

The thought grew stronger in my mind with passing days, yet I did try to pull myself up a bit and study like a good little boy. All the while my scheming became greater, I tossed around idea after idea. I told myself every time this was madness; though I was embracing madness more and more. Perhaps I could cash in my emergency money, find a modest apartment, possibly go back to Mersey Hall. I would explain to my true friends my lingering physical ailments from the accident left me no choice but to withdraw for a year (or two, or three). I could trade in the markets, perhaps get some income from the patents I held. Or maybe I could get work somewhere at a few other theaters, perhaps sweeping floors; that wasn't such a horrifying thought.

Logic tried to pry into my fantasies. Did I really have that much money? Would Mersey Hall truly take me back? Perhaps Jacob would hunt me down and force me to return. Perhaps after all this I would end as a beggar and die an emaciated corpse in the streets; it sounded like a better fate than being stuck in this march. The Reaper would take me when he was good and ready, perhaps I was walking right toward him.

A week after my meeting with the illustrious big wigs, their lordships finally graced me with a follow-up letter. The final penalty was a £2 fine and a written warning on my record against such reckless deeds. There some flowery words on how tragic it would be for a promising young student to let his talents go to waste, though I only skimmed them for basic understanding. I paid the full fine in cash later in the day with a letter saying I understood the penalty and was regretful for my actions. I couldn't help but feel this end was a bit anticlimactic.

The next day there was another letter in my box from the Academic Dean; my first official warning to pull up my marks now. If I continued down this course for too long it would result in my being sent down. Naturally there was no indication of the length of my descent before crashing, perhaps they would be content to cushion me at the bottom; my being a promising young lad and all. They were all just keeping me alive; no matter the pain, no matter how useless I was, a good surgeon must always keep the patient alive first and foremost.

What did I have left but to be cooperative, or at least try. So I paid a little more attention in class, made it to my seat early, and studied in my ample free time. I made a point of drinking less and only taking my elixir right before bed. I was better doing something productive rather than lazing back and getting obliterated. All the while flickers of thoughts of a grand escape went through my head. I mulled over all the options and timelines, all the thorough ways of departing and all the ways to make a mad dash. Within a few days all of these ideas would fall into oblivion with the rest of my thoughts every night in my chair with a glass in hand.

I recall one night in particular with a glass of wine with a drop as I pondered the walls. My stomach was turning badly again, I had kept the aches at bay but they were returning now in full force. I was ready to retch but lacked the energy to do so, instead I watched my surroundings hoping to keep distracted enough so the nausea would go away. It wasn't working, I finally ended up emptying my stomach in a waste bin and sat back down; feeling somewhat relieved though still quite ill. My eyes trailed to the bottle next to my bed, a fresh bottle of laudanum I had bought just a week back. I stared at it, somehow getting an odd sense of familiarity. I looked up from the bottle and pondered the ceiling, my memory slowly returning.

The clear bottle beside the table…right next to mother's favorite flowered chair. She never left that chair when I visited her, it was as of she melded to that chair in her final days. Then she would get a pain, then that bitch Emily would come in to give mother her "medicine." I reached a shaky hand over and managed to grip the bottle, holding it up to my face and examining it. How often was Emily giving her this? How long did mother sit in that damnable chair in a haze…the same haze in which I had sat night after night.

I had to chuckle, my laugh sounding warped and odd in my addled mind. How sick had she really been? Was it but a few pains? How long could you take it to dull the ache before it became your recreation, before it becomes your true pain? I put the bottle back down on the desk, it fell over but remained corked. And here I was sitting as she did; I suppose it was better than running down the halls with an axe like father. Only I was putting on a dress and taking swings at people. They both had their love for the bottle and I inherited both. Fucking brilliant. Was I fated to repeat their wasted lives?

I drifted off, the question lingering in my mind when I came to a few hours later. No way, no chance in hell would I share their fates. I kept the bottle in a drawer, vowing to stay away from this nonsense.

I was proud of myself for the first part of the day. By evening my nose was running and I was covered in chills. I still endeavored not to take a drop of that stuff; so bloody what if I was getting ill. By the next morning my illness only got worse. I awoke in sweat-soaked sheets, my skin crawled, every muscle and nerve screamed. Still I picked myself up and went about my business. I was so on edge, every little thing bothered me. I felt every look in my direction, every little whisper was like stones against my soul. I tried to pay attention in class, but my stomach was on fire and my hand was soaking my paper in sweat.

It was plain to me this wasn't some sort of illness I had picked up; this happened the last time I went off the laudanum. My body was purging the poison and being ravaged in the process. Perhaps I had acted too hastily, perhaps I needed to wean myself off this.

I allowed myself half a drop that afternoon, hoping it would appease the demon. The demon was only half appeased; the moment I drank it down my stomach clenched up like a crumpled paper squeezed in an angry hand. I braced my midsection with my arms and lay on my bed to hold off the twisting sick pulsing through me. The nausea gradually waned and the calm numbness welcomed me back in; I cursed this homecoming with every fiber of my being, then I relaxed and accepted it.

In a few days I learned how much to take to keep the demon at bay, just a hint of a drop was all I needed to stay functioning. Term was ending in a few weeks; I needed to stay sharp enough to get through my finals and slightly raise my marks enough to be less obvious. The effort by now was merely to keep up what meager appearances were left; there was no academic ambition, no desire to redeem myself, no need to prove I wasn't a complete foul-up.

I chose a few more interesting classes for the next term; a choral class, some courses to hone my skills in Latin and learn a little Greek. They hardly gave me any hope for next term. In the meantime I made my arrangements with Jacob. Yes I would return for the summer, yes I would go back to my desk, yes indeed I looked forward coming back. It was all going through the motions, telling one lie after another.

One more term, I said to myself, one more term to get yourself sorted out and see if this experience is as hopeless as you think.

I would go through the summer, save as much money as I could. I was sure my societal reputation was in the shit pot by now, perhaps I would need a summer to smooth things over and turn the tables on some particular blighters. Then I would return here and give myself one more term. If everything was still in hell, then I would make my grand escape for Christmas; this way I would have a whole summer to sort out my affairs and plan contingencies. This all sounded like the perfect plan.

This proposal lowered me from my haunches a tad, allowed me to try to pick up some pieces. I didn't care what was scattered and how messily, though the disorder was getting a tad staid. I studied every night, didn't allow myself a drop of the more fun liquors until I completed so many pages, only took a little elixir before bed. It was a calm routine, it was structure I needed. It was the only thing keeping my dizzy head in focus and averting my attention from my itching skin and racing heart. I had to continue writing and reading, I had to ignore the sweat pouring down my face and the twisting in my belly. I couldn't fall off my bed in raving screams, nor could I down any more drops of sweet, aching oblivion. It was either appease the demon or carry myself forward, I knew which I preferred though it wasn't the one thing speaking loudest.

It was early June by now. The impending cloud of deadlines was now starting to loom and the first breeze was blowing on this academic storm of scribbling down papers and pouring through books. I tried to get a small head start, I had already finished a few major essays and was getting caught up on things I may have missed in my foolishness. If I was lucky I might pull off with C's and D's, though I was sure I would fail at least one or two anyway.

I spent the first Sunday of the month locked away in my room, leaving only that morning to attend mass like a good little boy and get some breakfast and come straight back. It was another day of sitting at my desk quill in hand, pouring over books and papers, drinking cup after cup of the strongest tea I could make, and putting the final touches on yet another essay. As compelling as my thoughts were on Cromwell's political ambitions, my pounding head and surging stomach were getting a bit nagging. I finally looked at the clock to see it was already four in the afternoon. I threw the pen down and got up, I needed to get some air.

I wandered out of Chamberlain in a light summer coat though didn't bother to tie my hair back. The front lawn was scattered with even more sloppily dressed students; some sitting around reading, some lying in the grass exchanging conversation, a few played a light game of football off to the side. It was a warm day with a bit of a breeze, perfect for an afternoon of light recreation. I just wanted to make a stop at the market for some light victuals for studying; maybe a bit of bread and cheese though apples would be best, perhaps a new bottle of claret.

"Mr. Sutcliff."

Then I heard a familiar voice off to the side.

I stopped dead in my tracks, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. My fists gently balled up at my sides, though I yelled at myself to stay calm; this bastard would only use any perceived hostility to his advantage. I gently turned in the direction I heard the voice, seeing a hand raised just a few feet away from me. I would have preferred looking at Alan Fairfield's hand than his face, though the urge was rising to break both of them.

Alan sat crosslegged on a bench a short ways from the building, a thick black book sat open in his lap as his other hand held a clay pipe. His jacket was carefully folded over the back of the bench and he sat in his shirtsleeves, his mousy brown hair in a loose ponytail. His other hand beckoned me to come over to him, a sober smile on his face. I took a quick glance around the yard to see if any of his little friends were lying in wait. I didn't see any, nor did I see anyone who took any amount of interest in this moment. I wanted to keep walking off; I owed him infinite amounts of rudeness. Instead, and against my better judgment, I walked over to him. May as well see what the tosser wanted.

He took a draw from his pipe and looked to the side for a moment before planting his gaze right on me. I stared at him the whole time I walked, then stopped in front of him with a blank expression. He looked at me, I looked back but said nothing. Alan's little smile grew a little and he let out a stiff chuckle.

"I am sure you are not pleased to see me at the moment," he said.

I just stared at him. He looked back at me and grimaced.

"That answers the obvious question," he replied to himself.

"Then tell my why I'm looking at you now," I responded.

"Well I saw you and figured I would deliver a bit of news you might find interesting."

I just stared back at him. He took another drag and lazily exhaled, giving me this little bemused look that made me want to smash his face in even harder.

"We will be relaxing the society's age restrictions," he announced. "Per request of the Senior Dean."

The corner of my mouth quirked upward for a moment; I was just waiting for the punchline.

"And we have you to thank for this," Alan continued in this mockingly congratulatory tone, pointing the stem of his pipe at me. "Thanks to your vigilance, that I understand was voiced during a bit of unrelated business you had with the good sirs, your concern became their concern. Professor Smithson and I were summoned before Professor Chadwick and it was brought to our full attention how there are no age restrictions in our charter. Apparently a 'former member of this organization' voiced his worries about not only the restrictions but the allegedly aggressive and inhospitable manner by which our members interacted with younger students. The good professor didn't name any names, though there was but one conclusion we could reach. Henceforth we are to allow younger students and dissuade any voices of unwelcome or else be fined."

I gave a hearty smile in return.

"You are most welcome," I said cheerily.

"I thought that would bring a smile to your face. Though this does not mean you are any more welcome in our organization."

"I thought as much. Frankly I'm glad for the expulsion, I have better things to occupy my time with than sitting in a room full of a bunch of insipid killjoys who like to stroke themselves over their clever ideas."

He took another draw and gave a shrill chuckle.

"And you have been having so much more fun dressing up in women's clothing and playing parlor with yourself, because as I hear no one else will give you the time of day," he retorted. "What did I tell you about minding your reputation? All your vulgarity and drinking and ill temper has driven away everyone else you might have called friend. Now all those little children you bellyached to now see what I did."

I chuckled darkly.

"As always, I am truly moved by your kindness."

"Kindness is telling you to your face what everyone has been whispering behind your back," he said taking a draw, his other hand marking his place in his book with a ribbon then closing the book and putting it to the side. "Do you wish to hear a secret, something rather shocking? I have taken great concern for you."

I chuckled a little harder.

"Do you really?" I scoffed. "You certainly bloody showed it during every one of those meetings."

"I must sincerely apologize for not speaking up to the rest of the members. I do believe you were given ill treatment, though to be honest I hoped your reaction would show your strength of character."

"Strength of character, really?" I snickered.

"Yes, I wanted to see how tough you were; if you can't handle a few rough schoolboys than what the hell can you handle? Theater, true theater, does not cater to the egos of rich little boys."

"Did you see me raising fists? Did you see me falling into screaming fits like some hysterical diva? No, I dealt with all their childish harangues with my own humor and you proceeded to chastise me for being vulgar."

"I saw you being unsophisticated and carrying yourself in such an offensive way that could lead to further judgment of you and this organization. It appears my fears were correct."

"That I'm a molly boy, a poof, I must be taking it up the arse; go on say it. You didn't want to besmirch the reputation of your oh so pristine organization by having that flying around. Some bloody concern you had for me."

"You should be concerned for yourself. Your stage name is already rather known among segments of London theater, you need to mind what rumors may spread about you."

"Tell me why you give this much of a toss about my reputation."

It took me a moment of thought, but I had my answer. I paused and pointed at him.

"Let me guess, ambitions little director finally works with someone with a name," I declared, then snapped my fingers. "Now that's why you pulled me into your little club; you wanted an audience with the semi-famous Richard Morris, possibly take credit for whipping him into shape with your quite lacking directing skills."

Alan stared at me with this little smile.

"You are a promising actor…" he started

"…that you have never seen save for one impromptu performance," I finished.

"That I have yet to have the privilege, or perhaps the misfortune of seeing on stage. Was I intrigued to have you part of our organization on reputation alone? I cannot deny that. I figured at the very least you were a diamond in the rough that could benefit from some discipline, you were the very student the Chamberlain Society could use."

"And I was certainly of immense use to you and your little friends."

"You could have been had you decided to cooperate and not act like a total ass."

"By ass you mean not act like I had a stick shoved up there."

"Do you understand the concept of propriety, of discipline? Or are you indeed that drunkard, that hopeless clown who aims to take such poetic and brilliant lines and use them for a bit of attention. I cannot tolerate that and decent companies will not either."

"'Decent companies?' As in ones not off Leicester Square, you mean. You were sure to emphasize that last time we spoke."

"I mean that exactly. Do you want to be stuck in such hovels that only want warm bodies on a stage and don't give a damn about true art?"

I stayed still, keeping my hand from flying for his face. I smirked a little and looked down on the bench, examining the black cover of the book beside him. I reached down and took hold of the book, gently lowering myself down on the other side of the bench. He stared at me with a sneering smile.

"Alan, let me tell you something about that measly little hovel that you don't seem to understand," I said evenly, examining the spine of the book: "Trade and Warfare in Imperial China" was the title. "The owner and all the actors are very close friends of mine; they are like brothers and sisters to me, they have been with me through the best and worst." I then faced him right on. "Please consider that before brushing them off like fleas."

"Naturally you bear no ambitions of bigger stages and audiences on Drury Lane," he replied. "Don't give me that rubbish that Richard Morris only performs for his humble little friends, that the wealthy and pampered little Grell Sutcliff only keeps his horrifically common pets and yearns for nothing else."

Those last few sentences stung in a different place than I expected. It wasn't just the obvious insult to my friends or my ambitions; it struck something much deeper.

"And you know me so bloody well," I said, a sharp edge to my tone. "Mr. Fairfield, word of advice, do not ever pretend that you know me or my motivations."

"Mr. Sutcliff, your motivations are as plain as day," he responded, gently tapping out his pipe on his boot and putting it in his waistcoat pocket. "Do you know how many of your ilk I have encountered? You keep commoners for entertainment and to make you look like you care about the average bloke. Are your ambitions to truly to keep up this charade? Though if they learned your true nature I doubt you would have even them; I suppose even low class actors care about reputation."

I looked down at the book, opening the pages and skimming over a few sentences on the Han Dynasty. My hands shook around the cover, though I focused only on the crisp leather binding and hard edges. I took a few hard breaths and gently rose from my seat.

"I suppose you're right," I said, closing the book as I came to a stand. "Presuming that such low class, unassuming people give a damn about comportment and stick straight discipline as we do; or rather that you do."

I lowered the book, he put his hand out with the intention of taking it back. Instead I leaned down into his face.

"As for me, I couldn't give a fuck about reputation or discipline or ambition," I hissed.

I enjoyed the distasteful curl in his upper lip at my choice of words. I even more enjoyed the crunching sound and the grunt he made when the edge of the book connected squarely with his nose.

Oh what pretty red flowed from his nostrils, I gave him another tap and savored more coming down. Why focus on one area? I positioned the corner of the book square on his temple, watching him draw back with another yelp; a big red cut appearing on his scalp. His arms flew forward, but I swung several more times against his head. I kicked him in the stomach, he braced his midsection and tumbled to the ground as I gave him a few more hard swats into his back and his neck.

I threw the book right at his head, he swatted it away only to get the tip of my shoe to the side of his jaw. I watched his mandible shift with a crack as he let out another scream. What a lovely singing voice you have, Mr. Fairfield; I listened for what different notes I could produce kicking into his ribs and his collarbone. I did hear the rising chorus of screaming voices and thundering steps behind me. I was a bit too distracted to see Alan's hand grabbing for my ankle and yanking hard.

I was immediately thrown off my feet and into the waiting arms of a few saviors behind me. Arms flew around my waist, hands grabbed firm hold of my limbs, and bodies wrestled me to the ground. I gave a little moan at the ferocity of it; all these sweaty boys holding me on the grass. You are free to rip off my clothes at any time, chaps.

Alas nothing lewd happened, I was simply pinned firmly down. A few chaps went over to Alan, there was yelling about fetching a doctor and a constable. Alan was moving around a little, I heard him utter a few words despite his broken jaw. There were some yells and threats directed at me, but I was barely listening. I heard my name mentioned, by some passing chaps, followed by some gasps, laughs, and growls with plenty of additions of "bloody nutter" or "of course it's him!"

I soaked in all the sweet, sweet chaos whilst awaiting the constable and likely my arrest. I doubted the Dean would be able to write this off as drunken antics, perhaps this was the end of my road at Oxford. Certainly Matthew would be hearing all about this somehow, I am sure all this was definitely what he had in mind in regards to third party reporting. This was the choicest cut; his vindication of how much of a dangerous hooligan I was.

Here I was in the midst of my final unmaking. For the first time I truly felt free.


	46. Part 46

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 46**

The deans had this large meeting room a few doors from the main offices. The whole room reminded me of some stubborn old man's parlor; white walls and brown furnishings with little flair, stern-looking bookshelves all over, it even smelled like someone's closet. I shifted my position on the hard chair I had been planted into by the kind constable, who stayed in a seat by the door barely moving except for checking his watch and oiling a fine knife he had on him. Occasionally he looked over at me, but I was barely in the room to him. As long as I stayed still in my punishment chair he didn't give a toss. I tried to make conversation with him after we came in, though he just grunted at my small talk and went back to ignoring me.

I did pick up a book at one point, but my gaoler glared at me. I just put the book down with a nervous smirk. I couldn't blame him for being skittish, I did just use a book as a lethal weapon. I kept my gaze mostly on the lovely painting of the king across the room in between looking repeatedly at the clock. It was nearly half past 6, I had been in here for around an hour and a half by my estimation. Somewhere down the street Mr. Fairfield was in the care of an able doctor. I watched him hobble away braced on the arms of two other students as I was yanked off to this lovely room. At least he wasn't carried out, but some dead men can still walk before the body realizes what happened.

I guessed my fate ultimately rested with him. If he died or screamed for my head, my next stop would be a lovely hole in Oxford Castle. It was a fleeting thought to me, my main worry was getting out of this bloody room and onto my fate. I thought perhaps I should savor being nicely clothed in a clean space for one last time, though I figured even prison would be more interesting than this. Perhaps this was my ideal punishment; just sitting and waiting forever.

I was about to read the titles of the books again when the door finally opened. I respectfully rose and greeted Professor Chadwick followed by a few other high men, behind them was a man in a similar uniform to my acquaintance of the past hour and a half. I greeted them with a smile, receiving serious scowls in return. The party took seats around the table, the second constable remained standing as my friend remained seated by the door. I returned to my seat in turn, hiding my giddiness for some bloody news.

"I am very disappointed to be sitting here again after yet another fell incident, Mr. Sutcliff," Professor Chadwick said. "This time one much more serious."

I kept an even expression, my remorseful mask was a little worn by now.

"The damage by Dr. Atkinson's informed estimate is a simple fracture of the mandible, a broken nose, and two cracked ribs," the good professor continued. "Thankfully, the doctor said all these injuries are recoverable though he will be bedridden for at least a week or so. I just spoke with Mr. Fairfield, he was awake and alert though I am sure he is resting now."

Likely after a few drops; it only starts out as a little. Perhaps someday he would understand my pain.

"His jaw is heavily bound, but he is capable of some muffled speech," Professor Chadwick said. "We were able to speak with him about the situation, especially what he intended for you. Constable Murray, I will let you take the honors in your area of expertise."

I looked at the gangly constable. Here it comes, he'll have the irons out any moment.

"There's some good news for you, Mr. Fairfield told us he does not wish to pursue prosecution," the constable said. "I asked him if he wanted me to haul you off. He said something to the like of it wouldn't serve any purpose for you and he'd rather not have the mess. So congratulations for now at least. He does have the right to change his mind: I'd reckon you'd get your bones broken in recompense if he goes through with it."

I breathed a small sigh of relief. Perhaps Alan thought dearest brother would buy off every constable and magistrate then perhaps charge after him. Thankfully he doesn't know my family. Matthew would likely think rotting in jail or getting a good whipping made for good development of character, or so he would say whilst watching and laughing.

"Mr. Fairfield did say he had more faith in the judgment of this institution," Professor Chadwick cut in. "He would rather you were subject to our laws, and you shall be. As of now you are hereby suspended pending a formal disciplinary review and hearing process. You shall not have access to any university grounds except for hearings. I would recommend seeking representation from a member of the faculty or administration. Your record is very much against you, Mr. Sutcliff."

The axe wasn't falling; instead it was biding its time.

"I understand, sir," I said with the customary understanding nod. "I will seek lodging in town. Would it be possible for me to return to me room and fetch a few effects."

Professor Chadwick made eye contact with both constables and nodded.

"Gentlemen would you escort Mr. Sutcliff to his quarters and remain with him as he collects a few belongings?" he asked. "Then promptly escort him off campus."

"I will compensate you for your time, good sirs," I added.

Both glanced at each other, then nodded.

A few minutes and some further stern instructions later I was leaving that room at last, the two constables following close behind. This was my last march, my walk of shame. I walked through the hallways towards the residences, trying to keep the spring from my step. Oh God I felt alive.

Passing students would stop and stare, some giggled and whispered, a few shouted charming words at me.

"Going to the hole, poof?"

"About bloody time you got yanked out!"

"You're lucky you got an escort."

"Enjoy gettin' locked away, ya bloody loon."

The constables would shoo away anyone hanging too close or shout some empty warnings to some of the more direct calls or threw wadded up paper. I walked proudly in this parade, tossing a few waves and smiles to my adoring audience. One of my escorts told me to "knock it off," so I followed his advice and got a bit more serious. The parade finally reached my room. I asked my handlers for a little privacy as I collected my things, they nodded and stayed by the door as I went in.

I closed the door behind me, emitting a long, clearing sigh. I then took a look around the room, an odd sentimentality seeping in. Would this be my last time ever entering this room as a student? I certainly hoped so though doubted I would be that lucky. There was a process to this after all.

I found an empty trunk and went through my wardrobe and dresser picking out a few basic outfits; a few casual things, something business looking for the insipid hearings, I did put away a few party outfits. I had to pack accordingly, who knows when I would ever enter this room again if ever. I counted through all the money I still had on hand, finding a generous amount for the time being. That went in my case with a few other basic effects. I would have loved to leave that bloody bottle of laudanum, though I packed it in with a little bottle of fine cognac from London I was saving for a special occasion. I even brought out my long neglected violin. Perhaps now would be a good time to reacquaint myself with this lovely instrument.

I then found the dress in that trunk under my bed. I paused for a moment, feeling the lushness of the garment and inhaling the lady's perfume. I wanted to bring it with me into my exile, I wanted to celebrate the lady's escape from the horrible Lord Oxford. Alas the garment was much too big for my case, the fabric too bulky for my smallest bag; any attempt to fit it in would just damage this work of beauty. The thought was clear in my mind that if I left this here I might never see it again.

I pressed my lips to the fabric, then carefully placed it back in the chest. I promised my lady she would dance in a lovely dress again. When I had found my footing, when I had made my fortune, I would get her something so much grander. I heard her laugh in my head, "Silly boy, I don't need a grand gown to be happy and beautiful." A rude knock on the door and a call of "get on with it" broke me from my reverie. I closed the trunk, then collected my case; taking a last look around to make sure I had everything I needed.

At last I left the room, closing it behind me and locking it though I was sure anyone who wanted to get in there could. I walked off with my escorts, passing through the halls of Chamberlain one last time to another fanfare of revelers. Then we walked through the large front doors, I walked past the place where I had my moment of infamy just a few hours before, and went straight on towards the center of town.

Professor Chadwick recommended a particular inn, the Bonnie Inn and Tavern if I recall, a few blocks from Chamberlain located more in the center of town. It was a tidy establishment and the keeper was most accommodating. I took the keys to my room and paid a pound each to my escorts. They walked off with ample thanks, I finally was left to my own devices. My new room was smaller than my school lodgings, but I was pleased with it. I settled my effects then went downstairs and toasted many times to my new freedom, to a bright future, even good health to Mr. Fairfield.

The pub was a little lean that night, though I saw a few students from other colleges wandering around. Thankfully I didn't run into any Chamberlain peers that I knew of, hopefully a few blocks away was too far to meander for those apes. That night I slept better than I had in too long. I slept through the late morning, then awoke mentally celebrating what classes I was missing and what friendly peers I wouldn't be seeing ever again.

Eventually I opened my violin case. The strings were still intact, the tuning pegs needed a little oil but turned nicely otherwise. I finally raised up the instrument and the bow, my shoulder slightly tight but in need of a little activity. I played one of the first songs I remembered, scraping the bow lightly against the strings to not annoy my new neighbors; I wasn't interested in causing any strife here. It fed a hunger in my soul, at last I felt some satiety. I must have played for a good twenty minutes, finally stopping when my shoulder grew too stiff. Such was to be expected, such would be worked out later with more of this.

I read, sketched, ate some lovely meals downstairs, and took a few bottles with me to privately enjoy upstairs. At night I went back down to the pub and got into a little chat with some lovely boys from Exeter College, everyone was too drunk to care about names. I went back to my room late and had another lovely sleep.

As I rose the next day in enjoyment of my much-needed holiday, the desk clerk gave me a letter that fast reminded me why I was here. It was a customary advisory letter from Chamberlain announcing my first hearing this coming Monday; reminding me of the charges I was facing and advising me to write to them to request any representation. I went back to my room and pondered the letter, trying to make myself care any more than I did.

"These charges potentially carry the penalty of expulsion," the letter read with some serious-sounding language thrown in either to make me take this seriously or scare me outright. Either reaction was remarkably absent, in fact I felt more trepidation that they would keep me on.

I sat in my bed and stared at the letter, pulling my thoughts together on this whole matter. Perhaps reality was truly dawning on me what this all meant; it was a frightening thought and a joyous one all at once. I had been dreaming of this for years and actively preparing since two Christmases ago, now this was all real.

This march was over; this play, this farce was ending at last. I was on the long path to freedom at last; freedom that could deliver me to paradise or ultimate ruin, though these were mere details. This experience was over, it was time to make my own.

I wrote back to Chamberlain saying I had received their letter and I chose to represent myself in any hearings. I hoped these proceedings would be quick, I really didn't want to use too much of my precious money staying around here in limbo. I had no intention to contest any charges; I would own up to everything detail by detail. Whether they would send me down on the spot or try to arrange something was a detail for later. After this I added up my ledger from my Oxford account making mental note of what was last in my London accounts. If everything was intact I would be in a good position for several months. Last I checked the patents were netting me a good amount of money though hopefully I would have access to those funds in London.

Ultimately London was where my road lay. All my funds were there, what few friends I had left were there, plus I yearned for absolute freedom in that city. Alas it was also Jacob's territory, though I was sure we could avoid each other in a city as big as that. If I did return to Mersey Hall he would be able to find me rather easily. I debated whether returning was the best idea, though it was a fleeting thought; I wasn't going to live in hiding. I could only imagine what I might be subject to if leaving under these circumstances, though what did it matter? I was an adult now with my own rights, I was half a year away from being 19. Let the brothers yell at me, let them send ruffians after me, I really didn't care. I was sure Matthew would be relieved by my exile.

I did come up with a strategy for dealing with the family. I was sure by the time all this bollocks was wrapping up Matthew and Jacob would be fully aware of my latest misadventures; this was something I would certainly work with.

That afternoon I wrote a letter to Colin. I apologized for neglecting my fellows at the holidays, openly admitting my foolish reservations. I told him I would return to London in less than a few weeks time and that I had some serious matters I needed to discuss with him. I signed with my ample salutations and gave a return address from this lovely inn in case there was a swifter reply.

I sent out both letters with the clerk, then casually inquired about any local transport companies that went to London. I received the names and flyers of a few reliable carriage companies, then tipped the clerk for his sound advice. I now had an escape route, all that was left was the formalities at Chamberlain. The thought occurred to me that these buggers could drag out proceedings as long as they wanted, possibly give me ample cushioning to succeed. I was going to plan contingencies for that, though they became lost in my next three days of freedom.

The rest of the week was most lovely. I rested, played music, read, went pub hopping and got gloriously smashed, chatted with a few students from more agreeable colleges. I did have the misfortune of running into a few Chamberlain brats in my travels, thankfully it was just some rude words tossed at me in parting. I was beyond caring, I already considered myself separate from them anyway. I just had to get through these next proceedings and I was officially free from them.

I received a letter on Friday reminding me of the proceedings on Monday. Another constable would escort me back to campus, I was so special I was receiving an official escort. The letter reminded me to prepare my case and have witnesses available to speak in my defense. I had a good laugh at this. What defense was there, what idiot at Chamberlain would speak on my behalf? I didn't even have a character witness. Why case did I have to present? They knew everything, everyone saw everything; getting drunk was a far better use of my time than preparing a case.

I drank through the weekend; hopped taverns, sampled the fine liquors at each establishment, even chummed it up with a few local sods. A few more Chamberlain arseholes decided to greet me with some snide remarks, punctuating their jabs with, "What, you gonna pop me one next? Go ahead and do it, poofter, I'll get you hauled off like ya shoulda been." I shooed them off and laughed hysterically. I think word was going round about my predicament. A couple barmen were asking me of some odd stories they heard. A few chaps from Christ Church came up to me and asked if I really did smash in some bloke's face, apparently they heard rumors of misadventures. I conformed nothing for anyone, simply saying I had made a few foes and had been subject to a few rumors. I much preferred being a little more discreet in the midst of my peace.

Sunday night I rounded up my effects to be ready to flee in case they sent me down on the spot, though I doubted I would be so lucky. Monday morning I woke with a slight hangover, though was fully upright and in my smart suit and academic robes for the ceremonious occasion. The knock came at the door around 7 sharp, one of the friendly officers of the law who had escorted me here to begin with was waiting for me; thankfully not the one with which I spend nigh on two hours in that stuffy room. Barely a word was spoken between us as he escorted me through town back to Chamberlain's campus.

It was an uneventful march until we crossed the lawn, then another small group greeted the parade with appropriately joyous words. I kept on my serious mask and refrained from waving back. The parade route through the building had more revelers. I now wondered if the true purpose of my escort was to keep me in line or keep me from being drawn and quartered by my loving comrades. I couldn't wait to get in those chambers and be cast out from everyone's sight at last.

Finally I reached the Dean's chambers, another gentleman in robes approached and took me into a room without a word. I tipped the constable, who walked off with half a nod. I waited in a side room for a few minutes then was escorted into the main chambers. This room was rather familiar by now, as were the stony-faced men in robes and wigs sitting in front of me. Finally Professor Chadwick dropped the gavel and began the proceedings, giving a flowery opening before reading the charges against me. I reminded the panel I would be representing myself.

"Mr. Sutcliff, how do you answer to these charges?" the Senior Dean asked.

"I do not contest them, nor do I give any excuses for my actions," I replied.

One of the big men read a sworn statement from Mr. Fairfield, expectedly his doctor recommended him against joining us for this happy occasion so he write out a pithy plea instead. Naturally he wrote about his version of the events, I was pleasantly surprised he confessed to every fell word he uttered to me and recognized he was being a tit.

"I strongly regret my words to Mr. Sutcliff that afternoon," the big man read. "They were bourn from anger and wounded pride and were most improper. For this I do apologize to Mr. Sutcliff for insulting him so. I understand he comes from an upbringing of strong pride and such insults in his society are usually met with a slap and a challenge to duel. I understand though I do not condone such practices, nor do I excuse any of Mr. Sutcliff's reprehensible behavior. I do not intend to seek prosecution; it would be a waste of time and money by my estimation. Besides the law favors rich men no matter their crimes."

My opinion of dearest Alan went up a few notches; it was now in the piss layer of the sewer instead of the shit layer. He was an arrogant sod, but he somewhat came by it honestly. It annoyed the hell out of me that he once again assumed to know me and whatever "society" he thought I came from. Was I detecting a little jealousy or poor man's righteousness in these words?

"I do seek the judgment of Chamberlain College and its able administrators and I ask Mr. Sutcliff pay the fullest penalty for his actions against my person on the grounds of this institution," the letter continued. "I trust the deans, the warden, and the proctors will hear the copious evidence against him and deliver a most fitting punishment under the laws of Chamberlain College and the University of Oxford."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

"Mr. Sutcliff do you contest any of the statements made by Mr. Fairfield read before the panel this morning?" Professor Chadwick asked.

"No, sir, I do not," I replied. "I do thank Mr. Fairfield for his consideration and his apologies for speaking to me so rudely."

A few annoyed looks went around the circle, though they proceeded. A couple other children were called in as witnesses, giving equal accounts of what they saw transpire on the lawn. These boys did see Mr. Fairfield on the ground as I proceeded to beat the hell out of him. I tried to pay attention to their testimony, though all the particular questions they were being asked were a bit boring. I tried and failed to suppress a yawn, earning me a few nasty glances from the panelists. I was asked if I wished to cross examine them, I politely refused both times.

By the clock I had been listening to this bollocks for around an hour. Thankfully the panel called me front and center, I prayed the formalities were over and I could be executed at last.

"Mr. Sutcliff it is evident to this panel that you have no wish to defend yourself in any form," Professor Chadwick declared. "However your lax attitude causes me to question whether you fathom the seriousness of these charges against you. Is such the case, or are you simply rolling over and accepting whatever fate awaits you?"

"I assure you, professor, I fully understand the weight of the charges and I am fully aware of the severity of the punishment that awaits me," I calmly replied. "I challenge none of the assertions, as I declared previously, and fully admit to all charges."

"Given Mr. Fairfield's written testimony, do you feel as if your actions were justified in any way?" Professor Chadwick asked.

I paused for a moment, I really did not know which was the more truthful answer?

"My actions were indeed out of turn, nothing justifies what I did to Mr. Fairfield," I said in response.

"Not even your conscience, Mr. Sutcliff? Perhaps I should rephrase the question: do you bear any manner of remorse for attacking Mr. Fairfield in such a grievous manner?"

I had a ready answer prepared, though instead I paused. I knew every moment I stayed quiet I was damning myself even more. What the hell, I was damned enough already.

"I cannot lie under oath sir," I replied with a smile. "The God's honest truth is I do not; not in the slightest."

Every eye in that room glared at me, a few hard whispers went around the panel. Professor Chadwick smirked a little, fixing me with a tired gaze. He banged his gavel, all whispers around the circle stopped.

"I will convene this session for deliberations," the Senior Dean said, then motioned to a clerk. "Mr. Hall please escort Mr. Sutcliff to the next room. We will summon for you when we have made a ruling or announce further deliberations."

I simply nodded, the clerk then walked over to me and motioned for me to follow him out from chambers. I politely went in step beside him, leaving the room and going back into the side sitting room; the constable was still there waiting for me. I took a seat, the clerk went back in chambers and locked the door behind him. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief, then waited in my seat like a child waiting to open presents. I wanted this whole bloody thing over and done with.

Once again it was back to waiting in a room with this constable sitting across from me. I didn't even bother starting a conversation this time; I was barely in the mood for chitchat. After a few minutes I was tapping my foot, a half hour later I was pacing around the room. At last the door opened, I snapped to attention like a soldier. The clerk who escorted me here bade me to return to the Dean's chambers. I gladly followed, my heart racing and my breath in hard gasps. Any other boy in my position would be praying to whatever holy or unholy that he would be given a second chance; I, on the other hand, was praying for the opposite.

Mr. Hall opened the door and I entered the room, once again facing a row of serious men in robes and fine wigs. I took my stance in front of the firing squad though there would be no black hood; I was facing my executioners head on.

"We have had our deliberations and all of us came to one decision," Professor Chadwick began. "As we said during your previous hearing, Mr. Sutcliff, you began your time at this university with much promise, then we saw such a promising young man losing his way. We could have expelled you for your previous indiscretions, I will confess such option was considered but taken off the table. We wanted to see your previous misbehavior as simple silliness, or a reflection of a sudden apathy. Your testimony last time spoke to us that such was the case.

"Just a few weeks later we are now back in the same place, only the charges are much graver this time. Now a young man is bedridden with serious injuries caused by another outburst. What would happen if we wrote off such charges this time? Will there be a third incident far graver than this? This is a risk we cannot take. As much as it pains me, as much as it pains us all, we are forced to recognize that you are a liability to this institution."

I successfully kept my visage serious and refrained from smiling. Already I felt a great weight being lifted from my shoulders.

"Grell Nils Sutcliff, you are hereby expelled from Chamberlain College," the Senior Dean declared. "You are also ordered to pay a fine of £10 in restitution to Mr. Alan Fairfield for the injuries and hardships you inflicted on him. Failure or refusal to pay this fine will result in prosecution."

The clouds lifted from my soul. My legs were shaking, I gently held the table in front of me to keep from tumbling down. Professor Chadwick gave me this long dissertation on how my expulsion from Chamberlain also meant my expulsion from Oxford, how I was banned from all university campuses, how I would not retain credit for the courses I took and I would never receive a transcript. He may as well have been speaking in tongues, I heard nothing else but the sound of an angelic chorus in my mind.

I was momentarily broken from my awe when the professor asked if I had any more possessions left in my room. I did, in fact I had a few trunkfuls of shit left in my room. I had left with a week's worth of outfits and the bare basics. I told him I would send for a servant in London to come early and clear my things. I asked if it would be agreeable to leave my room intact until my man arrived, Professor Chadwick thought for a moment and said that would be agreeable. I told him who my servant was and that I would have him approach him before getting my things.

Simon was supposed to come for me at the end of term in a week, though I wasn't going to send for him or anyone. I had all I needed to get settled, I didn't really need anything more. Matthew could sell off the rest in recompense for dealing with me. Let him find that fucking dress, what cares did I have anymore?

At last the speeches and technicalities were over, I was formally dismissed from the panel. I thanked the gentlemen for their consideration, I was going to give a big speech on how I regretted that my fate came to be this, but it would all be lies. I was done maintaining appearances. They knew who I really was now, any extra words would have wasted everyone's time.

The constable escorted me out of the building, I took my last march through the halls of Chamberlain. At last we were out of the building and leaving campus. The procession received a little more fanfare. I was leaving Oxford to the music of jeers and insults. This time I did wave in response, thanking every reveler for their kind words like a bishop blessing his flock. I walked further away from Chamberlain, then dismissed the constable and tipped him for his services. He walked away with a few wary looks back at me.

I walked through the streets of Oxford toward my inn, no one else noticing me. Everything was quiet at last, just the usual thrum of the city. My body was numb, my hands shook, I gave out deep gasps as a heat built behind my eyes.

It was over, I was walking a free man. My name was nothing but a signifier, I was stripped of my weighty crown. Now I was just a common sod; a failure, a "liability." I couldn't contain my pure bliss.

I finally reached my inn and walked up to my room, my shaking legs threatening to give with each step up the stairs. At last I was in my room. I closed the door behind me, threw off my jacket, and loosened by cravat with a trembling hand. I couldn't even fully remove it, I simply collapsed on the bed in a fit of breathy sobs. My sobs soon rose into cackles, my voice was locked in an eerie combination of the two. Then my tears faded into screeching laughter.

I collected myself after an hour, then neatened my appearance to some degree and left the inn; it was time to get some real business done. I went to a transport company; I was lucky to secure a carriage for London tomorrow morning. Even then I was only so fortunate because someone else cancelled; fate was truly smiling on me this day. I gave a deposit and signed under the name Henry Paddington. I paid a little extra to have the driver to knock on my door when he was ready to leave. Our deal was settled, I would return to London tomorrow.

I spent the rest of the day settling my affairs. I wrote out that £10 check and sent it to Chamberlain with only a curt letter of explanation. I wasn't going to write a formal letter of apology to Alan, why waste the paper? I then went to the bank an cleaned out the rest of my account, save for the £10 going to Alan. I took the money back to the inn and securing it in a locked box with the rest of my Oxford money. At last I made sure all the items I had were fully packed and secured. There would be one more vital piece to this I would compose later on, though I would wait until I had the best words.

Once my tasks were done, I endeavored to celebrate my last night in this fucking city. I had no clock to set, no obligations but leaving this place. The driver would be knocking on my door in the morning, I could get as drunk as I wanted tonight. I hit the pubs around dusk and sampled as much as I could. My memory briefly recalled the nights Jacob and I spent at these bars, toasting to my future with glass in hand. I toasted to my future now, my true future.

It was a Monday night, but the streets and taverns were still bustling with people. Term was ending at the end of the week. Some blokes had left already, others were celebrating the dawning end of essays and tests, others were numbing their anxieties. I ran into many students, thankfully none of them from Chamberlain that I knew of. After a few drinks I was openly declaring my gladness in leaving this city. No one questioned it, they probably assumed I had leave to shove off early or maybe didn't care.

After a few hours I was nicely relaxed; I was laughing and yelling and dancing, but I still had some wits about me. I downed a few glasses of this lovely rum, trading a few toasts with some passers-by, and loudly singing along with the medley played by some roving accordionist. After the song was done, a tall chap with dirty blond curls and a thin beard patted me on the shoulder in laughter. I laughed along with him, we exchanged some pleasantries about how good the music was. He patted me on the shoulder again.

"Well Sutcliff, my friend, what say we find some more rum?" he said. "I know a good place."

I cackled and motioned for the door.

"Lead on, old man," I replied.

I was happy, I was relaxed, yet I still had some wits about me; the same wits that wondered how this bloke knew my name. The inebriated mind can be numbed but sometimes it can fix on one thought. Mine was that I had never told my real name to anyone tonight, or any other night I had been out. He put an arm around my shoulder and lead me across the room.

"You don't mind my friendliness, nah oh course ya don't," he said. "You're just a social bloke, everyone knows that. Grell Sutcliff, the big joker."

The warning in my numb brain burned a little brighter. I never met this guy in my life, though he was speaking awfully familiar with me. I should have turned around and lost him in the crowd. Instead I continued, somewhat intrigued at who this bastard was. Perhaps a little protection would be wise. I purposefully stumbled, my hand catching myself on a nearby table. He gently grabbed my shoulders with a "Whoops, have a little too much?" I heavily pushed myself off the table with my forearm, my sleeve covering a dinner knife on the table that I slid into my hand. I gave him a goofy look as I slipped the blade into my coat pocket, he just laughed along then lead me to the door. Apparently he didn't notice my little trick, all the better for me.

We walked out into the street, exchanging some banal small talk. He was still talking to me like an old chum, though such was normal whilst inebriated. I deduced this blighter was close to having his sheets in the wind as well. We waded through the crowd, he was babbling something about this wonderful tavern he knew that sold a potent rum that was the poison of choice for Barbary pirates.

I almost wanted to relax for a moment and enjoy my tipsiness. Then he said he "knew a shortcut" and directed me towards this side alley. I casually leaned my forearm against my side, feeling the kitchen knife in my pocket. I should have pulled aside, I should have refused, though he likely would have pulled me along anyway.

My new "friend" took my arm and pulled me into the alley, I saw him looking around to see if we were noticed. I looked around too, but no one paid us any mind. The thrum of the crowd muted slightly as we went into the narrow alley. I saw trash barrels and empty grain sacks strewn all over, it was clear this wasn't a main thoroughfare. He was still chatting when we walked, perhaps he was just taking me down some alternate route to get someplace quicker and avoid the crowds; this areas went through the city like spokes in a wheel.

Then the conversation took an interesting turn.

"I'm sure you miss being at Chamberlain," he said. "You gave my friend Alan such a nice gift…"

He yanked my arm towards him and punched me square in the forehead. I was thrown off balance for a moment, he pulled me back and punched me again in the cheek, then let go of my hand and sent me flying into the wall.

"May as well return the favor," he growled, hitting me in the stomach with both fists, then punching me in the face again.

He was a scrappy fellow, his punches hurt but they were too misaimed to really do anything. These assaults were just drunken and angry flailing. I allowed him to take a few more hits, though I didn't know if he wanted to send me a message or bloody me up good. Blood was running from my nose and my lip was split, I really wasn't in the mood to spend another carriage ride in agony after another brat decided to speak his peace. Perhaps it was time for some fun of my own.

I hurled myself at him, making it look as if I was trying to fight back. He pushed me back hard and punched me again, likely paying more attention to how bloody my face was than the hand that reached into my pocket. I allowed him one more punch, though this one barely grazed my scalp. It was a pathetic showing from a boy with more bile and alcohol in his body than sense; such a shame this would kill him.

I punched into his stomach, perhaps he let me have this hit. By his sudden gasp I could tell he already regretted it, I made him regret it even more as I plunged the blade into his midsection again and again. He came in again with his fists, though his hands were shaking too hard with this sudden little surprise. He tried to grab my shoulders, though I pushed him down to the ground. He tried to get back upright, though he tumbled right back down. His face was now ashen and blood was running from his lips. I wanted to keep playing with him, but this was a rather poor place to do that.

I crouched down and grabbed his hair. He tried to reach for me, but I sliced his throat before he could get too close. I felt the blade go through his flesh and the tough tissue of his windpipe. The memory of the last time I did this stung for a moment but was replaced with such satisfaction. I kicked him then came to my feet before the lovely red fountain began its graceful spurt.

He looked up at me in horrified awe, the wound in his throat gurgled as he gasped for air. I just smiled down at him, savoring the dying light in his eyes and the way his skin turned ghostly white. If only I could see the Reaper as he swooped down for him. Such had been my thought the moment I delivered such an end to dearest Reginald; perhaps I was the Reaper, perhaps I was delivering his soul to wherever it wished to travel.

A few more gurgles escaped him, then his eyes gently closed and his body stilled. I took a deep breath, savoring the pure art of death before me. I felt truly at peace.

I looked down at myself, thankfully I wore my black coat tonight. I could see faint glistens of blood on the front, though it blended in with the fabric. My cravat was spotted in places, I pulled it off and put it in my pocket. The sleeves of my shirt were a mess, though I tucked them further down the sleeves of my summer coat. I paused for a moment, listening for any yelling or running. All I head was the usual thrum of the street. No one was noticing anything amiss.

I smirked, then grabbed a few grain sacks; draping it over the body of my enemy like shroud. I then kicked over a trash barrel, scattering the old meat, wilted lettuce, and piles of papers over him. This way he wouldn't look too obvious. I looked down the alleyway again, then slowly walked to the opposite end, tossing the knife into another trash barrel.

At last I was back in the street, I slipped into the crowd like another passerby. I casually crossed my arms, hiding any trace of blood on my coat. I continued through the crowd at an even pace, listening for a constable calling to me or someone yelling "Stop! Murderer!" There was none of that, just the usual noise from the street. I looked down at my coat again, the blood was barely visible under the streetlamps. I made a path back for my inn; this evening of revelry was officially over. I was so giddy; I still had my faculties but I was giggling like a child from the drink and the lovely spectacle I witnessed.

I slipped into the building, the clerk was dealing with some drunken fool trying to haggle for a room. I made my way upstairs, thankfully finding my key in my pocket, then opened the door, went in the room, and locked the door behind me. I slid to the floor in a heap of giggles. Oh what a lovely evening this had been. I didn't want to think on how I likely fucked myself over, how my hasty actions just cost me my freedom and would lead me straight to the noose. Instead I rolled on the floor and laughed. I was so very proud of myself; I was up to five people now. Five people were in Heaven or Hell by my hand, I felt oh so special.

The thought crossed my mind who that cad had been. Was he friends with Alan or was he going after me out of some school pride or solidarity? In the end it didn't matter; he was just as dead. I had another good laugh at the thought of this. At last I collected myself. I disrobed and rolled up my bloody clothes into a ball, putting them at the very bottom of my trunk; I would have to do something about those later. I changed into my night robe, then crawled into bed; settling instantly into a glorious sleep. The memory of those gurgles and pleading eyes lingered in my mind, soothing me even more.

I woke to the first light of dawn, my whole head ached dreadfully. It took a look in the mirror to remind myself this wasn't just from my night of revelry. My face was puffed up all black and blue. That lout did a good number on me, though I had the last laugh, I chuckled at the thought.

I dressed in a modest suit and took final inventory of my effects. By the clock I had another half hour, though hopefully the driver would swing by early. Of course the next knock on the door could be from a waiting constable with irons in hand, but in truth I was hardly worried. My fate was my fate; such was my reality, such was what I had accepted. If my fate was to go to London a free man or die in Oxford at the end of a rope, such was how it went.

There was one more critical duty to complete, I thought about doing this in London but this was the best time for this one final task. I took out quill, ink, and paper, then mulled over the best words to say to a few very distinguished parties. I thought about writing separate letters, but I knew I could best address my feelings in one letter to all of them. The best words came to me; I stayed polite, yet did not mince on words. This was my final goodbye, I wanted this to be legendary.

At last my thoughts were on paper, I kissed the letter, then put it in its envelope; sealing it and addressing it to London. I had barely packed my letter kit when the knock came at the door.

"Carriage for Mr. Paddington," a voice said outside.

I smiled and rose from my chair, carefully opening the door and seeing a middle-aged man in a dusty suit on the other side. I greeted him kindly, then asked for him to take my lone trunk. At last I was leaving this place. We went downstairs, I handed the keys to the clerk and paid my last day's fee. The boy gave me an odd look, likely seeing my wounds but not saying anything; better to stray polite for the guests. I left him with the letter, instructing him to take care of it as it was a matter of great importance. I gave him a generous tip and parted in smiles.

The carriage was right by the door when I walked out, my trunk secured on the roof. I made sure my hair covered my face, though no one paid me any mind. I just heard pleasant talk around; no talk of bodies or murder. Perhaps they hadn't found the rascal yet. The driver opened the carriage door, I stepped inside and took my seat. Then he took his seat and grabbed the reins. We took a steady roll onto the street, then past the usual morning throngs. I looked out the window with an odd sense of sentiment. This was my old life, this was the world I was leaving.

The Honble. Grell N. Sutcliff, brother of the Baron Sutcliff was dead. Perhaps I should live under a different name now, though the thought held little appeal. No, I was Grell Sutcliff; I always would be. I was no longer a child or even a bright young pupil or apprentice. That name now belonged to a vagabond; a sinner, a murderer, an actor, an all around interesting fellow.

We passed through the streets of Oxford and passed the city limits. I looked out at the spires, the rooftops, the university buildings, and celebrated every stretch of road put between me and there. We were soon in the countryside, I lay my head back against the cushion and allowed myself a clearing chuckle. My mind then recalled every single word I wrote in that last letter; my official resignation from the entire Sutcliff institution.

_To my dearest brothers,_

_I write to you in a turning point in my green, yet eventful existence. By the time you receive this letter, you will also be receiving a separate correspondence from the big men at the University of Oxford regarding a bit of trouble I got myself into. If you have yet to receive such notice, then I shall be the bearer of bad news: due to my own rashness I have been formally expelled from Chamberlain. I am sure you will be informed of all the details and you will be giving serious thought on what to do with me._

_I shall lift this burden from your shoulders, gentlemen. I declare that I am no longer yours to deal with. Like the American rebels, I too declare my independence. My earliest recollections were of being under the foot of the big adults. In eighteen and a half years nothing has changed, though some of you have tried to make me useful for your own purposes. I have never been a part of this family; I have been a pet to keep around hoping I will fetch as I was expected to take beatings. I was shackled under iron chains of expectations, though fate has been kind enough to let me cast off my irons._

_I shall never live under the expectations or obligations of anyone else but myself. As of this moment I am no longer your burden to bear, nor will I be your tool. I hereby formally renounce any status or titles of address associated with the Sutcliff barony. I renounce any claims to compensation or inheritance from this family and its business. You shall no longer have my services in any way, shape, or form and I in turn will not expect any services from you. My welfare is my own matter, you are free to not concern yourself over it. _

_I did leave behind a number of possessions in my dormitory in Oxford, instructing the Dean that I would have a servant claim them. Should anyone decide to go to Oxford and loot my belongings, be my guest. Do not look for me for I will never return to your auspices, whether in peace or by force. If faced between death and having to live under your authority, I will gladly greet the Reaper. I do not know where my travels lie, but I shall enjoy this journey of a free life wherever it takes me. _

_To Baron Matthew: I bid you good riddance. You could never seem to forgive me for the incident on Christmas, though I cannot say I blame you. I would wish good health to you and your ilk, but I would be wasting my ink._

_To Jacob: I sincerely do thank you for your kindness and accommodation. I have come to see you more as a friend than a guardian and I cannot voice enough appreciation for your understanding and companionship. Unfortunately, I never could afford to trust you; I am sure you understand why._

_To Elijah: I also owe you my gratitude for your advocacy and counsel, though you never did earn my trust. You are a true man of God and I admire your naiveté and your isolation from the rest of this tragedy called the Sutcliff family. I do give my blessings to your family; keep your children as far away from the rest of our blood as possible._

_Dearest Oskar will forever live in my heart as the only man in this family I was proud to call kin. _

_To all my family, I bid you my sincerest farewells. May God give you your just rewards._

_Sincerely,_

_Grell Nils Sutcliff_


	47. Part 47

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 47**

I slept like the dead on the ride to London. If the cabin shook or the terrain was rough, even if the angels swooped down and the horns of Hell let out I still remained completely oblivious. I wish I could say no elixir was involved in this process, though it was the tiniest amount to keep my body from revolting. The rest was simple relief; a repose at last after a year…no, after eighteen and one half years of strife. Freedom felt so bloody grand.

I awoke to see signs indicating we were in Uxbridge. Depending on the roads and the predilections of the driver, I figured it would be another few hours until we were in London at last. I gradually woke, a slight grogginess lingered though lifted bit by bit. As soon as I had my wits about me the reality slammed me hard. I was a long way from Oxford and a shorter way from London; I was but a few hours away from the true beginning of my new life. No, I wasn't hours from my new life; I was in my new life already. I was a wanderer in the midst of an adventure. I laid my head back and sighed, the hint of a giggle sneaking out.

A thousand thoughts surged through my brain, some of them were glorious possibilities while others were scary realities. I had planned for this moment for a few years, though here I was about to test if this map would lead me to a happy life. I knew I should set stakes right away, yet give myself some time to relax. I had the rest of my life to bother myself with technicalities and I had spent a few years already working and striving for someone else's dream. What was the rush?

The further we got down the road the more I mentally went over plans. I knew I would want to see Colin as soon as I had the chance. By my estimation rehearsals for the summer drama were in full swing unless the production has opened already, it was too late for me to get a part. That thought only mildly annoyed me, though I was surprised to find I bore a small measure of relief. All the barbs and icicles from the Chamberlain Society of Twats still stuck to me; I knew I was returning to a more agreeable group of fellows, though I still felt raw.

What would happen if Colin gave me a polite direction that touched my searing wound the wrong way? What would happen if Sam or George gave me a light ribbing? Considering what I did to Alan Fairfield, perhaps I had reason for concern. If I lost it the same way on one of my true friends I sincerely doubted I would be able to forgive myself. I was prepared to ask Colin for some light duties, perhaps it was best if I worked behind the scenes for a while.

By doing so Jacob might have a harder time finding me. This thought lead to another realization that caused my form to sink in the seat like a loose sack. All my Chamberlain friends knew my stage name, Alan Fairfield not only knew my stage name he knew what theater I worked at. Oh balls, why the hell didn't I keep my mouth shut? How the hell was I supposed to know then my close friends would become my enemies? I finally had a group of people I could confide in, if I knew said people could potentially muck things up nicely I wouldn't have said anything.

Hopefully no one remembered the name Richard Morris, though I doubt Alan would ever forget it. Alan was likely a regular in London, as were the rest of his theatrical cronies. And just how many boys of high breeding were going to spend the season in London after term? I tried to push this whole mess out of my mind, dismiss it as paranoia, though this was a reality I couldn't ignore. I didn't want to think on this possibility but I had to; if I took the stage in Mersey Hall everything I escaped could come back to find me.

It was a thought that turned my stomach and made my face hot with anger. This could mean being onstage at Mersey Hall, my sacred home, could never happen. No, fuck all of them, nothing was going to keep me away. What did I have to worry about? Reputation? I pissed away my reputation already…but I would have to form a new reputation as an actor. All it would take was for a few loud enemies to make every theater owner in London avoid me like the plague; my career would be stillborn. And what would happen to Colin and Mersey Hall? What of their reputations?

There was another consideration, one that could make an even bigger mess of things. What of that charming young man I left in an alleyway last night? What would happen if he were found and identified as a Chamberlain student? Even if there was no evidence connecting me to the crime, the timing of my departure would let everyone write their own stories. I gave little thought to the idea the crime could be pinned on me. When I left no one was talking about it, perhaps they would make a list of suspects who were presently in Oxford. I, however, had a bit of a spotted reputation and a swift getaway. Then there was the lout's "my friend Alan" comment, his last words if I recall. This was just getting worse by the moment.

No, lying low for a while was a wise idea. I could take another stage name and disguise myself, though I wouldn't be too hard to pick out. That red hair of mine stuck out more than a little. I put a hand through my hair, taking a good look at it. I was oh so proud of this hair; I loved how long and thick it was, I adored its bright red highlights. This hair was my most distinctive feature; the one thing that could give me away so very easily. I shut out the next thought that went through my head; not an option, though perhaps it would need to be so.

I knew I would have to speak to Colin about my predicament. I wouldn't tell him everything, naturally, just the base details. I'm sure he could provide some assistance and guidance in my plight. It was the best leaping off point I had in beginning my new life. I settled back, managing to relax at last. Who cared about a few inconveniences or moments of quiet? I had all the time in the world now; there were no deadlines save for the one the Reaper declared, even that one didn't bother me. I was writing my own story from here and I could plan and plot as much as needed to be done.

I managed to doze off for a little while longer, then a hand politely shook me awake. I opened my eyes to see the driver looking at me through the ajar door.

"We've reached Leicester Square, sir," he said. "Is there anywhere else you wish me to take you?"

I immediately bolted upright and looked out the windows. All around me I saw buildings, people going about their business, carts and horses, the cobblestones and every bit of straw and shit caked on them. I recognized every stone and smell around me.

London, glorious London. I was here at last, and this time to stay. I was settling in this city a new man; a man free from protocol and expectations, just another young scamp seeking thrills and success in the capital.

I directed the driver to a guest house I knew was nearby. We rode another few minutes to the Old Soldier, a house I had ridden by many a night. I went in, got a room from the friendly older gent who ran the place, and asked the driver to take up my trunk. The room was small and the paint was peeling from the walls, but it was still very well kept. It had this cozy appeal, not to mention a nice view over the better sections of the neighborhood.

I paid the driver the remainder of his fee and a little extra, shaking his hand and amply thanking him for his services. I then gave him a pound to forget he ever saw me. It crossed my mind this would be the last generous tip I would ever be capable of giving someone. From here on out money would be scarcer, though a last bit of insurance never hurt. He simply smiled and tipped his hat, taking his leave with some kind parting words. I closed the door behind him and savored the quiet. Here I was in my first true home in London. It was small and cheap, but it was perfect.

I barely settled in, instead I went right out into the city. Not having a horse was a bit of a pain, though I savored the walk. I breathed in the smoky air and gazed upon the crowds passing back and forth. I blended into the crowd; I was clad in a simple suit with no cravat, my hair still flowing freely. I was just another cad in this city full of them, that felt so glorious.

This little walk wasn't just for exercise. I went to the banks where I had accounts under other names, thankfully I was going out just a few hours before everything closed. Everything I had put aside was intact, I had a good collection of money stored away. I thought a long while about checking the account in Westminster where the money I had accumulated from Sutcliff Agriculture, including the patents, was being stored. I was concerned this could give me away right off, however how much did everyone know right now? I was expelled yesterday and I only sent out my letter of familial resignation from Oxford this morning. It might be days before they realize the full situation.

Jacob could get wind that the account was touched that morning and know something was amiss, though perhaps I could put a couple extra in someone's pocket not to say anything, or perhaps tell them I was readying a surprise. It dawned on me that perhaps doing something about that account right now was the best thing I could do. By the time they learned the full story they could think I was leagues from here.

I then quieted my mind and smiled. I thought I decided I wasn't going to care about that bunch. Fuck them all, what could any of them do? That was my bloody money, I earned every cent. So what if Jacob found out I was in London today or years from now.

I marched right to the bank in Westminster and presented my book to the clerk with a happy smile, asking for an updated balance. The clerk greeted me cheerfully, looked through his ledgers, and wrote the updated numbers in my book. The numbers had doubled from last summer; the patents must have been put to good use. By the counts I was seeing now I had enough money to live in modest luxury for a year, it would go even farther if I lived a bit simpler.

I withdrew a sizable amount with no questions asked; it was best to put some of this in a safer place lest Jacob got tempted. I then tipped the clerk and asked him not to tell anyone he had seen me. I left that bank with a modest sack fat with guineas, then returned to Leicester Square where I found another bank and deposited the coins under another name. The amount I had under other names would have put me in a safe financial position for quite a while, hopefully my access to the Westminster bank would not be restricted and the patents would continue to collect. Tampering with the path or location of those patents in anyway seemed sort of unwise, though I would have to consider that option in the future.

My new bank closed its doors for the day almost as soon as I exited. I jingled the small sack of coins my pocket, feeling a bit satisfied and secure. My body was nicely fatigued from walking practically all day, especially after such a long carriage ride. My old aches gently greeted me again, though I felt more invigorated. I was now fully re-acclimated to London, this time with a better understanding of the roads and passageways by foot. How many times had I ridden through this city on horseback or in the back of a carriage with little mind of appreciation of this grand city?

Finally I walked back to my guest house. My immediate business was done, however there was one more bit of business I needed to take care of; hopefully I could do so tonight. I stopped at the pub for dinner and a pint, chatting with a few of the louts at the bar, coming up with a few creative stories when asked about all the bruises on my face. All the while I was slowly getting the nerve to do the other most important thing I had to do today; find Colin and have a chat.

I was infinitely more willing to see him than I was the last time I was in London, though there was a matter of narrative. What was I going to tell him about Oxford, about the family, about the possibility of Jacob searching for me? By my second pint I knew I wanted to hold little back. Naturally I wasn't going to mention the murder and my relationships with a few different bottles was something a bit too personal, though I needed to be honest with him about so much else. I had to trust him, or at least gauge where I couldn't place any trust.

I finished a third pint and left the tavern sufficiently relaxed, my path went directly for Mersey Hall. It was a Tuesday evening, the sun was just beginning to set. I knew Colin would come in on off hours to do the books. There was a strong possibility he would be there, though there was a great possibility he wouldn't. I was willing to take my chances either way, though I did have a general idea where his apartment was. Tonight would be the best time to speak with him in private, I knew I should try to find him as best I could.

The theater was only a few blocks away, my heart pumped harder as the buildings became more familiar. At last I laid eyes upon the wide front doors and modest sign overhead. I stood and stared at the building for a moment, warmth flowing through me; I was the Prodigal Son truly returning home. A large poster was pasted on the front of the building: "Coming Soon: William Shakespeare's Tragedy of Julius Caesar." I smiled wide, even if I couldn't be onstage I truly looked forward to a wonderful production by a such a talented group of players.

I hesitated for a moment, then I forced my hand to grasp the door handle. The handle clicked in my hand but didn't give; of course the theater was locked now. I found the cord on the side for the front bell, that I knew could be heard through all areas of the theater. If no one answered then no one was there. I took hold of the cord and gave it a few light tugs, hearing the bell ring inside. I then paused, then stopped to listen. The bell gradually went quiet, all there was around me was silence save for the usual activity on the street. I put my ear to the door, hearing nothing inside until the gentle falls of footsteps echoed through the wood. My lips curved into a happy smile and I took a few steps back.

The door shook for a moment and I heard the click of the lock. The door opened a small crack, then I got a slight glimpse of a gloriously familiar face as he looked out the door. I saw his eyes widen, the door flew open and he stepped right out. My face was hurting from grinning so hard.

"Well what a pleasant surprise," Colin chuckled.

He threw his arms around me and I did the same, savoring his warm embrace. Tears flowed from my eyes, I gave off a sob mixed with a laugh.

"Welcome back, son," he said gently.

I wanted to return his greeting but my voice was frozen. I let out a few more sobs in response, my body was now trembling. I just buried my head in his shoulder and sobbed, feeling a tidal wave of tension leave me one tear at a time. Colin held me tighter and clapped my shoulder. At last I pulled back and looked on him. He looked on me with a wide smile, but he then looked at my face with concern and gently put a hand to my wounds.

"Bless me, what happened?" he gasped.

"It's a long story," I said, my voice cracking.

He put a hand on my shoulder and lead me in the door.

"Come on in, I'll get a few glasses out and let's hear that story," he said.

Colin lead me in the building, locking the door behind him. That smell of paint and canvas and powder caught me immediately. A few lamps were lit on the walls, I now looked upon the small front lobby of Mersey Hall and the halls adorned with posters. I knew I was home now.

He lead me through a small side door into the modest back office. A few lamps were lit on the wall and a small lamp was going on the side of the desk. Papers were strewn everywhere with a few odd bits of clothing and regular items such as cups and brooms I knew were meant as props. I believe this was the first time I had really been inside this office. Colin pulled out a wooden chair from the side and sat at his desk, opening a drawer and taking out a bottle of rum, displaying it with a naughty smile. I smiled back, he put the bottle on the desk and took out two small glasses from the drawer, putting one in front of me and one in front of himself.

"I received your letter a few days ago," Colin said, uncorking the bottle with a loud pop.

I quickly recalled the contents of that letter, readying myself for one difficult conversation already.

"I probably sounded like an utter fool," I replied.

Colin lightly shook his head, pouring me a glass then pouring one for himself.

"I understand your reluctance," he said, corking the bottle and putting it off to the side. "You were put in a bit of a difficult situation right before your departure. I cannot blame you for a little mistrust or doubt, though I will say you fears are unfounded."

I toasted in return and took a light sip from my glass. The rum was a rough quality that was perfect for my palate at the moment.

"Regardless you are in an interesting position in your life," Colin said. "I understand that internal debate; should I leave my old life behind? Have I truly changed? Will the people in my past be jealous or judge me? It's a common worry and I know no amount of reassuring can completely sweep away those fears."

He sipped his drink. I let out a clearing laugh; he had just said it all.

"Bloody hell you're a wise one," I chuckled.

He smiled and raised his glass before taking another sip.

"I believe the more accurate term is 'wise arse,' though 'wise old arse' works as well," he replied.

I laughed even harder, he chuckled along with me. My laughter stilled and I took a harder sip, now I was ready to get into some heavier discussion.

"Did you ever go to university, Colin?" I asked.

He snickered and looked down at his glass.

"No, I never did," he answered. "However it wasn't about finances for me, you already know a bit of my history with that."

"I do indeed. Now I'm even more curious as to why you didn't go."

"The truth was I did have the opportunity and ample means to get me through as many years as I wanted. Why didn't I go? To be honest I never cared to."

I sat right up in my seat, trying to keep my mouth from dropping open.

"When I was your age I couldn't be held down and no one really cared to change that," he continued. "I got the subtle suggestion more than a few times, the whole lecture of the importance of being an educated man in society. I never listened; I did the whole social scene, dabbled in theater. Then I found a lovely young lady more worth my time and money than sitting in classes, a few more lovely young ladies that resulted made me appreciate that time a bit more. The thought of university was a passing laugh from then on."

"Do you ever regret not going?"

"Not at all. I had my calling, other men have theirs."

I threw my head back and cackled, my voice cracking with the threat of a sob. I looked back at Colin, seeing him gazing at me with this little smile.

"I have the feeling you are learning this for yourself," Colin said, taking a drink.

I laughed a bit more, running a hand through my hair; my head nodding in the process. Maybe this conversation wasn't going to be as hard as I feared.

"What was your first guess?" I asked with a smirk.

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment with a calm smile.

"I don't know, call it an educated assumption," he replied. "I think it was the tone of your voice when talking about your departure, you seemed more mournful than happy. A young man who has been handed the opportunity of a lifetime seems a little more exuberant."

I laughed again.

"Wasn't that hard to read, was I?" I chuckled.

"Then I learned of your family situation and had a bit of a clearer picture. Then I saw a lad being groomed as the proper educated man of society whether he wanted to be or not."

I laughed with the breathy airs of a sob, putting a hand to the side of my face and feeling a few fresh tears. He sipped his drink and looked at me. I took a few breaths and sorted myself out.

"I'm out of Oxford, Colin," I said. "Not for the summer, for good."

Colin gave me a small smile then nodded, raising his glass.

"Is it done already, or are you pondering the possibility?" he asked.

"Oh no, it's done and then some," I replied, ready for some pure honesty. "I…I managed to get myself booted out."

I found myself laughing, Colin's eyes widened.

"What the bloody hell happened," he practically gasped. "Was this part of the much you had to discuss with me?"

"And this was a big part of it," I said, taking a gulp. "As was this."

I pointed to my wounds, Colin grimaced and nodded.

"Let me guess, you got into a tussle and they don't tolerate that sort of thing," he sighed.

"That's another part of it, as was the Chamberlain Society I'll add," I continued, this story was becoming more fun to tell by the moment.

Colin's eyes grew even wider.

I took a hard drink, then shared with him some details about the lovely treatment I received from those buggers. I told him they were nothing but a group of bullies and braggarts. He cringed during some parts and held back shocked laughs during others. I only ended the story with my final encounter with Alan, I spared him the details of what happened to me in the months leading up to that moment.

I told Colin I snapped and gave him a thorough beating, though didn't give any more specifics. I simply I recited a tale of an angry boy who entered with his fists. The story ended with me being pulled off him and the subsequent judicial action that resulted.

"As for these," I said, pointing to my face. "This was my going away present from some of his friends."

Colin sighed hard at the end of my tale.

"I'm so sorry, boy," he said.

"Don't be," I said, pouring myself another glass. "In truth it was the best ending I could have had."

I paused to gulp down most of my drink, Colin's eyes remained fixed on me.

"I hated that place, Colin," I continued. "I was surrounded by high nosed boys with little humor, the best way they kept themselves entertained was through the rumor mill and I was nicely smashed against its gears. There were no well-wishes or handshakes when I left and that's putting it mildly."

I took another hard sip. I really didn't want to drink too much tonight, though perhaps I was in the perfect company to do so. I felt my hands shaking a bit harder, Colin's understanding gaze drawing so much to the surface.

"In truth I never did belong there," I said, my voice cracking a bit more. "You called it exactly: I wasn't there by my choice, but my brothers'. If I worked for the company, then went to university, I could come back after graduation and be set for life; I would finally have a role in this bloody family. I was doing my duty, what I thought I should be doing, what everyone thought would make me useful. I never truly gave a damn about any of that."

Colin nodded with enthusiasm.

"It was never who you were," he responded. "But where are you now? Is the baron or Mr. Jacob too amused with the course of events?"

I laughed and took a hard gulp.

"They won't be, I know they won't," I replied. "But honestly I couldn't give a toss. I'm out of the game, Colin, I wrote a very nice letter telling all of them to piss off, I'm done with every last one of them."

Colin paused and looked at me, then slowly nodded.

"Don't worry for me, friend, I have ample resources and ways to build off them," I said, raising my glass. "I'm not about to be a pauper just yet."

"You carved a little nest for yourself? Very wise of you. Did you know this day was coming?"

"I've been preparing for it for over a year; putting aside every penny that came across my path, exploiting every little gift and resource they tossed my way. I have to say your contributions added a bit more straw."

"I've contributed to a worthy cause then. You know, I've always had this feeling that you were somewhere you didn't belong. The way you mentioned your stodgy family, the meeting with Mr. Jacob, all that told me you were hiding from something. Then we met Father Sutcliff and I had a bit of a clearer picture."

"I remember the words you said to me at the end of that night, they burned into my brain. I knew then you understood; perhaps I didn't appreciate it nearly as much as I do now. I'm free, Colin, I'm finally bloody free."

The crack in my voice took over and a few sobs snuck out. Colin laid a hand on my arm and I put my other hand on top of it.

"You are a truly brave man, Grell Sutcliff," he said. "How many men have died in their golden chains, how many men would take this step so willingly? Do you realize these will be humble beginnings?"

"I do and I savor it."

"Does your family know where you are?"

"I didn't tell them, though I doubt I will be hard to find."

"Are you in any danger?"

"I doubt it, though I personally couldn't care less. I was intelligent enough to tell some of my former friends my stage name. All the Chamberlain arseholes probably know who to look for and where to look should they decide to have more fun."

"That won't happen, you have my word."

I looked back up at him in awe, the sureness of his words lifted a massive weight.

"Everyone comes into this theater with their own history, but history doesn't matter when you walk through these doors," he continued. "We all look out for each other, you aren't the first to have such concerns and yours aren't the worst ones I've seen."

I let out another sob and looked right in his eyes.

"Thank you, Colin," I sobbed.

He simply smiled back.

"If anyone is looking for you, we'll feign ignorance," he said. "Whether it's your brothers or some university child. However you are going to have to take some measures for yourself."

"I should stay offstage shouldn't I?"

"Well not necessarily. At the very least I would say you should refrain from those end of show meet and greets we always do, you will have to mind yourself leaving the theater as well."

"My reputation is in the shit heap with a lot of theatrical people now. I would hate for it to spill over to you."

"Do you really think we have that high a reputation?" Colin chuckled. "We're small, we're dingy, everyone knows there are Irishmen and Jews here and I'm apparently an idiot because I don't think that's a problem. I made this theater to be for everyone, Mr. Sutcliff. No Oxford high brow is going to have any impact on me. However Richard Morris needs to stay here and only here. If you do get interested in truly making a career of this, you're going to have to invent a few new personas."

I nodded in understanding, joy coursing through my veins.

"We're starting 'Julius Caesar' in two weeks," he continued. "Auditions were a week ago and we've already had some promising newcomers. Alas I didn't know when or even if you would return. I figured perhaps the Chamberlain Players had more your attention."

I gave a dirty chuckle that he returned with the same spirit.

"I assume all the parts are taken," I said with a nod.

"Well I do confess I personally took on the role of Decius Brutus, round out the cast of strapping young me with an old bugger like me," he continued. "In the last few plays, however, I have been scaling back my on performances. I'm 63-years-old, my knees are bad, I'd rather put more of my energy into directing the play than being on the bloody stage. Now if I happened to stumble upon some new strapping young lad with passable acting talents who might be able to show his talents then I might just hand over this role to him."

I stood up from my seat and embraced him over the table, nearly knocking over my glass in the process. I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders too and a deep belly laugh release from his form. I pulled back and grinned the widest I had in too long. Instantly my reservations and nerves were for naught; I would be onstage again at Mersey Hall. That was all I cared about.

We chatted a little further about my comeback. Decius Brutus was a rather minor character; he was one of the conspirators. He was mostly known for talking Caesar into attending the senate on the Ides of March, assuring Caesar his wife's disturbing dream was in no way an omen of his demise. He has few moments on the stage, though that would ultimately be perfect. Colin said he would be willing to take on the part any night I felt uncomfortable about being so out in the open.

I did tell him I wanted to learn more about the backstage workings as well. My schedule as now wide open and I was ever the eager pupil. Not only did he want to show me the ropes, he would offer me a modest wage for any work I did do backstage. I told him I didn't mind getting my hands filthy, so don't worry about me being offended by doing certain menial tasks. A handshake sealed the deal, then we toasted to a promising future.

I left the theater late that night with ample embraces and kind words for Colin. I walked back to my guesthouse floating on a happy cloud. I was back, I was free, and I would be making a modest living doing things that truly fascinated me. All my cares were gone, though that did not stop all the manner of worries from trying to pry into my thoughts.

After a few pints and a few glasses of rough rum tonight, I was still upright though my thoughts were starting to fix on unpleasant things; my inner voice was trying to ruin my happiness with fearful practicality. I hoped a couple glasses of gin at the tavern would make my brain shut it and allow me to pass out in peace, alas it only made my senses somewhat hazier and increased the paranoia. I was looking for Jacob over my shoulder, I could hear the laughs and taunts of the Chamberlain twats right behind me, though no one was there. I walked to my room with only a little stumbling, resisting the urge to run and repeatedly reminding myself there were no constables behind me with a noose.

I put the key in the lock and went into the room, locking the door behind me. Here I was in my humble hole of exile, here I was at the end of the world where everything was new and scary. I was a new man, yet I looked in the mirror under the lamp and saw the exact same arsehole who was just booted from Oxford. The more I looked at myself the more I loathed what I saw.

What a pathetic toss-off; this rich little boy who thinks he can be like everyone else. This spoiled little boy thinks he is so fucking unique, so fucking special. He's just a plain little shit who will die like everyone else. But I'm not like that at all, I am but flesh and blood but I can change that. I can change everything, I can be whatever the hell I want to be. I can put on a suit and be a gentleman, I can put on a dress and be a woman, I can wear robes and be a prophet.

I stripped down to my flesh and stared at myself in the mirror, running my hands over every part of my naked form. Oh God how beautiful I was underneath all that cloth, stripped right down to the truth. The only thing covering me was a curtain of flame red hair; it flowed down my shoulders and rested at the center of my back. I was stripped of everything else, but one thing remained to remind me who I was. I grabbed my hair and played with it, pulling it back, letting go and letting it cascade. Still it was there, still I was there, and still I could never be someone else but such a loathed bastard. I would be found, I would be haunted, I would be punished for being who I didn't want to be any longer. Maybe there was a way to change all that.

I walked around the room looking for a suitable instrument. What should I find in my bag but a tiny pair of shears. I looked at myself in the mirror, conjuring a quick prayer of offering. Then I pulled my hair back and tried to match the blades of the shears with my hair. I snipped some chunks, but the shears were too small to do this all in one go. I chopped through parts of my hair, sometimes hitting the air, sometimes knocking against the flesh of my other hand and the back of my neck. I felt the locks I did snip fall down all over me, caressing my skin in some parts and pricking me with itchy points in others.

At last I looked upon myself and saw that curtain of hair gone. It rested in a choppy mess around the base of my neck, even as drunk as I was I could tell it was horrid. This was my flensing, this was me stripping the skin of my old life like a snake. Now I was fresh, purified, taking a more pleasing appearance. With this sacrifice I could truly become a new person.

I remembered throwing the shears across the room an feeling my knees buckle, my body finally deciding I had enough for one day.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Yes FINALLY an update. I took my time getting things together after last chapter, then I had the insanity of Anime Boston then getting a cold. Now I'm back into the swing of things.

A note on Colin's comment on Irishmen and Jews. Colin isn't saying he sees them as something that devalues his theater, he is saying other people do think that and he really doesn't care. Around this time there were sizable populations of Irish and Jewish people in London and both groups were severely discriminated against. Colin, however, refuses to do so despite people telling him he should. I do plan to get a little more into some of the other Mersey Hall actors later, so this is a little foreshadowing.


	48. Part 48

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 48**

By now I was well accustomed to the feeling of stiff rug fibers poking into my face when I regained consciousness. It was a sensation that reminded me I didn't exactly make it to my bed the night before. I was also somewhat accustomed to waking in chills and the feeling of a cold floor against my bare side, that clearly told me I wasn't clothed at the time. One sensation I was experiencing for the first time was this coarse substance all over my body that gave itching little pricks.

My aching head could barely comprehend my own name let alone this odd substance that was all over my naked flesh. A few moments later I reached up and felt some of it on my shoulder. The substance brushed off easily, though some of it stuck to my skin with my perspiration. I looked down to my hand, first seeing a few trickles of dried blood and a few shallow cuts on my right hand. Now this was a more familiar sight, though seeing these of clumps of red hair was a bit disconcerting.

I felt more of my shoulder, then slowly propped myself up and took a better look at my form. Hair was everywhere, my skin looked like that of a balding animal. I started brushing the hair off of me as I slowly regained my senses, my memory suddenly recalling my last waking moments of the previous evening. The thought made me gasp hard, my skin turning cold. My hand wanted to wander further up my neck, though I kept it frozen. I really didn't want to confirm what I knew already, the denial allowed me to think it had all been a bizarre dream.

I allowed my hand to continue its upward creep, but I already knew what I would find. The coating of bright red hair all over my body told me enough already, may as well end the mystery and get the surprise out of the way. My hand slowly crept up my shoulder, then to the back of my neck. At last I felt the choppy mess remaining of my hair. Most of it was now at the base of my neck though a few chunks were slightly higher. I also felt more dried blood and the slight sting of evening-old cuts on the back of my neck.

My hand dropped to my side, I took a few hard breaths. My hands covered my face and I emitted a screaming groan. What the fuck did I do to myself last night? My lovely hair, my lovely red hair! It had been so long and beautiful since I could remember it. I could put it in sophisticated ponytails, leave it cascading wildly, curl it up and braid it and look like such a lovely lady. Now its mangled corpse was all over my naked body, only a few choppy remains were left and all because of my drunken obliviousness; all because of my foolishness!

I let out a few sobs, a couple tears streaming down as the full realization sunk in. Another realization stilled my weeping; this wasn't a sudden urge that gripped me, this was a thought that had been growing since my grand escape. I had indeed contemplated if I should rid myself of such a telling characteristic. Perhaps with shorter hair I would stick out less to the Chamberlain brats or any of my brothers; especially the one who lived and worked just a few miles away from my current place of exile.

My sobs stilled to hard breaths, these realizations were somewhat relieving. Yes I had thought about cutting my hair, though I never wanted it to end up like this. Then again if I were to cut it how long would it have been? Would I have been satisfied with this length? I pulled face from my hands and chuckled a little through a lingering sob. This wasn't such a travesty, it was in fact an unfortunate convenience. I slowly came to my feet, my surging stomach and stabbing headache threatened to send me back to the floor a few times though I persisted.

I stood up, bracing myself against a wave of dizziness and forced myself to face the mirror. The first thing I noticed was all the hair sticking to my flesh. I had been blessed with a lack of hair on my body save for a few modest places, though now I looked like a bloody dog on two legs. I brushed off most of the hair, then my gaze trailed up to see the remains of it on my head. It was a shocking sight, though not horrifying.

The length of my hair was now generally flush with the curve where my neck met my shoulder. The base was choppy as hell, though I was sure it could be straightened out with minimal loss. My head felt so much lighter, that thick weight was gone. I put my hands through it, finding I could still pull it into a tiny ponytail. Perhaps a good barber could do a few more things with it. I took a hard sigh and smiled slightly. This wasn't all that bad, on the upside I certainly looked a bit different; I wouldn't be as recognizable now.

I pulled myself away from the mirror with a nod, then wiped off the rest of the hair with a cloth. It took a bit of rubbing and was not an entirely comfortable process, though I rewarded myself for its completion with some additional rubbing of a more pleasant variety. I tied back the remains of my hair, a process that was a bit more laborious though relatively successful. I dressed and went out, getting a recommendation or a good barber at the front desk and seeking out his services.

The gentlemen was a bit of a gruff older man, he huffed a little when I explained I had a bit of a ribald mishap at a party; I'm sure the yellowing bruises on my face just added to the story. He barely talked through the process, though in the end the choppy base was evened out and he found a way to puff up the crown and give the little tail a bit of a curl. A nice, close shave later I was leaving looking like a fashionable gentleman.

I returned to my quarters to do the best I could in covering up my wounds with powder. The theater had taught me a few creative ways to cover up blemishes. I did think the attempt was relatively successful. I still looked a bit puffy in places, though I could barely see any of the yellow or purple that blotched my face.

I spent the remainder of my morning at leisure. Colin asked me to be by the theater around 2 o'clock to start showing me some of the (quite literal) ropes. In the meantime I took a pleasant stroll around the West End, inquiring at a few small theaters if they were having auditions. A few were; some managers politely instructed me on when and what I should prepare, some just shooed me away though I paid it no mind. This was more of a fact-finding mission, I was still not certain if I wanted to jump into the mix right now or bide my time and settle into a new role at Mersey Hall. I was still a little raw after the Chamberlain Players fiasco, perhaps it was best if I heal my wounded spirit at a familiar place before trying to conquer the West End.

At 2 sharp I was ringing the bell at Mersey Hall. Colin opened the door with a smile and a bit of a double-take at my new appearance. I told him I wanted a little change up for a few obvious reasons, he did say he liked the look. He lead me backstage and gave me a small tour of the inner workings. There were small rooms for set painting, organizing the curtain ropes, prop and costume storage; so many little details I paid no mind to until now. I wanted to learn so much more of this.

A few of the other members of the backstage crew arrived; some were new, yet the ones with whom I had worked before greeted me with wide smiles, handshakes, and embraces. It was such a lovely reunion already. I simply said I was back for the summer and waiting to learn some of the behind the scenes goings on. The thought of sharing all the real reasons why I was here made my stomach clench a little.

The lads were exceedingly helpful. I watched as they constructed a few set pieces based on Colin's notes with a little input of their own. I swiftly volunteered to take saw in hand and carve out a few slats of wood. I wasn't entirely inexperienced with such construction, though most of my experience consisted of building small models for the company and not large pieces like this. My teachers did give me pointers on what stance and angle to take when sawing and how to brace oneself at the knees when lifting heavy objects.

After a few hours of this my body ached, though in a most pleasant way. It felt so nice to be so productive, especially in such a way that didn't involve sitting at a desk. We took a quick break when I finally looked at the clock: it was almost 6 already. It was almost time for the actors to arrive for rehearsals. My stomach tightened a little more at the thought. This would soon be another reunion and another opportunity for some difficult conversation.

I wasn't going to hide my story from my friends, though that old fear rose in my gut that I would be judged for my circumstances. What idiot would give up a life of riches and prestige to live as simple as all the rest? What child would squander his opportunity for a world class education? An independent man who had no use for any of that, that's who.

If I had learned anything in all my misadventures it was how to tell apart true friends from phony toss-offs. If any of these bastards really cared more about my stratus or my deeds than they did me, then I had no use for any of them. If they bore judgment, let them cast it; I wanted to see who they truly were. I didn't want to spend another year or several wasting my time with idiots, I had left that life of currying favor behind and wasn't about to step into another one.

I snuck backstage to touch-up my make-up. Explaining my situation would be hard enough, I really didn't want any bruises telling more of a story. Even Colin was complementing me on my make-up skills: "I'm sure Georgia wouldn't mind an extra hand. You two will have to chat sometime."

I told Colin I wanted to share my story with my closer friends after rehearsal, he nodded and said he would pull the old regulars aside at the end of the evening; welcoming me home and all that. As for the new ones, apparently there was a rule that all confidences about one another are to be kept from outsiders and any strangers will only meet Colin in the lobby. This was partly influenced by Father Sutcliff's appearance, though apparently one other chap had a sneaky debt collector get in under the guise of an enthusiast. I felt safe already.

I gave him many thanks for his cooperation, then found a nice hiding spot around the doorway waiting for everyone to arrive. It was the exact same doorway from the stage in which I had tucked myself away when Elijah decided to drop in. I swore I still saw the nail marks in the wood from when I was clutching the frame so hard, but that could have been my imagination. Now I was here under some happier circumstances, though I did not quite know how happy they would be.

The first ones to arrive were some of the newer chaps, then who should follow in while side by side and chatting was Ephraim and George. My heart leapt to see both these boys at last. Sam was in just a few minutes later, then Shannon, then so many others I knew so well from actors to more of the backstage crew. My face was hurting from smiling so much and a few tears threatened to leak from my eyes. This was the happiest I had been in too long.

Everyone assembled in the dressing room per usual. Colin then told everyone to gather round, my heart pounded a little harder. He gave the usual announcements; a few extra notes, some advice for lines frequently missed or actions he would rather people avoided.

"Now there is a small matter I wanted to mention regarding my performance as Decius Brutus," Colin said. "My role will be changing a bit; I have decided to focus a bit more on directing, though I have found someone I believe is a bit more qualified for the part."

Brows furrowed and curious glances were exchanged all around.

"Would my replacement care to take part in this meeting?" he called.

I smiled wide, then slipped into the role of a conquering hero returning home. Our hero is wary and humble, though yearns to see the friends and family he left behind so long ago.

I stepped from my hiding space and walked before my audience. The wide eyes and dropping jaws, all the little yelps and ah's were an angel's choir to me. I bowed grandly, everyone applauded. Soon a crowd rushed up to me; there were so many embraces, so many pats on the arm, a few kisses on the cheek from the ladies and handshakes from the gents. I heard a few recitations of "You sneaky bastard" followed with chuckles. More than a few were pointing out my new hairstyle, a few hands were lightly tugging on the tiny tail that remained. I said I was trying on a new look.

"Oh yes, such a stylish Oxford boy," Sam laughed.

Every word grated on me, I saw Colin give me a worried look. I just forced a smile and patted Sam on the head.

"What can I say, there's some smart-looking boys there," I replied.

This got a few laughs, though I swore I saw George giving me a curious look for whatever reason. All questions would be answered later.

Shannon did ask me how long I would be staying, Colin responded that such a schedule would be made clearer soon. He gave me a little look and a nod upon saying this, I simply nodded back. Colin gently pushed everyone into rehearsal mode: "We'll have a few pints later and Grell can share all his stories."

Colin started on that first big scene between Cassius and Brutus, George and Sam were the lead boys. Apparently their lines were still a bit shaky and they were being given a little more time to knock off the rough edges. They took the stage, starting from the top of the scene. They had much of their lines learned already, though I saw books on the tables with marked pages just in case. Colin gave a few directions, then they got right down to business. For a good few minutes I was watching two friends and two wonderful actors go back and forth on such an important scene.

For the first time in nigh on ages I was listening to Shakespeare's words delivered by men of great talent. There were no interruptions and there sure as hell were no discussions. I truly forgot how talented Sam and George were, especially compared to those harlequins at Chamberlain.

The head man backstage, Elias, did pull me aside for a brief course on what considerations would be made for this scene: what curtains would be down, what backgrounds would be used, what props would be out. I listened intently, painting a picture in my mind of the final product according to his instructions. To think I could not only be the centerpiece onstage, but also create the universe everyone would see made me a bit giddy.

After a few hours, Colin decided to do the scene where the conspirators meet in Brutus' garden.

"Let's give our returning friend some time to get back on his legs," Colin said.

I nodded back at him, taking my positions with the others. Now my chest was tingling and the tightness formed in the back of my throat. This was my first time on this stage in too long. This was also my first time reciting any lines in front of everyone since that catastrophe, the very thought of that sent a piercing chill through my body I forced myself to shove out. That wasn't acting, that was me wasting my time with idiots; I would be an idiot myself if I let that bollocks turn into fear.

George took his place onstage, then received word of his guests' arrival from a new lad playing Lucius. I realized now I truly hadn't had the chance to consider my character. With all the other rubbish going on, I barely even looked at the lines. The book was in my hand, though I was unsure how to read them. I simply came up with a concept right on the spot, if Colin didn't like it he was free to say something.

Sam entered as Cassius, sharing some words before the team arrived. Colin then instructed us to creep up to Brutus in a line. As Cassius announced each of us, we would approach and shake his hand with a modest bow. Decius Brutus would be the second introduced, I had to be ready nigh on immediately. I shoved out all second thoughts and immediately got into character. I approached with a bit of a stiff gait. Holding my book behind my back like a butler holding a letter.

Trebonius was introduced first, then Decius Brutus. I approached George, gave him shallow handshake and a crisp bow and took my position upon being welcomed. Then Cassius and Brutus has their private word, my line was the first spoken by any of the conspirators. I snapped my book open and briefly glanced at the simple line.

"Here lies the east; doth not the day break here?" I said in a bit of a stuffy, yet casual tone; one I had heard so many times from so many different high-arsed bastards.

Everyone else's lines commenced, everything worked so smoothly. I was relaxing a little, though still felt a pulsing in my forehead. We joined hands as requested by Brutus, everyone gave their lines. By this point I was glad my character had sparse few lines; I had a bit more time to catch my breath.

Then came my longer line. I tried to look down at my book only sparingly, though God help me I started tripping over a few lines. Soon I was looking straight down at my book, though I was still missing words and pronunciation. Sweat ran down my back, I was a disaster. Any moment now would come the ribbing and laughing…

Wait

No

No, no, no

What the blooming hell was I thinking? This is ridiculous.

I paused for a breath, then felt my muscles unclench and my breathing come easier. I read the rest of the lines in relaxed delivery, maintaining the character I had in mind. I missed a few words, but this was my bloody speech whether anyone liked it or not. At last my lines finished, I felt as if I had spoken my first words in this world.

Sam them went into his line, I looked at him and swore I saw a little smirk and a nod. My insides glowed a bit, I subtly smirked in response. The scene continued, at last it was time for the conspirators to leave so Brutus could be alone with his wife. I stepped off in the same stiff manner, the book going behind my back again as I followed everyone offstage. I stepped off that stage with a deep breath, I felt silly for being as much of a mess as I was.

At that very moment I resolved not to care. A that very moment I mentally promised God and the Devil and whoever the fuck was listening that I would never ever give a shit how I looked to anyone. Let me look the idiot, let me look the child, let everyone see what they may; none of it mattered.

Backstage Sam gave me a firm handshake.

"Nice job catching your nerves," he said. "That was bloody brilliant."

"I could just hear him telling his wits to get back in line," Ephraim added, his hand forming the motion of holding a whip. "Fall in, tossers!"

I doubled over and cackled. It was one of the greatest things I heard in too long.

"Happens to the best of us, lad," I heard Colin's voice say.

I looked up to see him peeking his head backstage.

"This will feel normal again, I guarantee it," he finished, then smiled and walked back to the main stage.

I settled in a chair with my book and decided to learn a few more lines, my fingers resting on the side of one page.

"I'm assuming this is a bit different from the Chamberlain Society," said James, one of our older gents.

My fingers yanked back and the page partially ripped from the binding. A few of the others simply looked over at the sound, though I kept my gaze to the floor. James gave a nervous chuckle.

"Wrong question?" he snickered.

I stuck the page back in its binding, knowing I would have to add some glue later.

"Actually…yes," I replied with my own chuckle. "It's a very, very long story."

"Oh I am ever so sorry," James said, his tone sincerely regretful.

"No offense taken, you simply didn't know." I replied.

"There's a story here somewhere," Ephraim added.

"A devilishly lurid tale I shall tell later," I replied with a smirk.

The rest of rehearsal was George sharing a moment with Mary as Portia. Elias took me on another run through but mostly I had the chance to catch up on old times. About five new players entered our circle, I had the opportunity to be introduced to all of them. All of them seemed like nice lads and ladies, already they were rising through the roles. Already a gentleman named Hamish was playing Marc Antony and a new girl Liz was Calpurnia. I also learned dearest Jane was taking some time off from the theater; she and her husband were settling in with their new son.

It felt like a return to normality; here I was sitting backstage chatting with all my mates. It felt as if I'd never left. Even the new ones were rather personable.

I found myself in a conversation with Hamish talking about music. I let it slip I played the violin, apparently he was a string enthusiast. I didn't immediately accept an invitation to his workshop to see his collection. I merely said I would have to sort out my schedule, in truth I wasn't all that comfortable with meeting a stranger in private quarters considering recent events. I almost hated to turn him down, he was quite handsome; gorgeous (if not a little stringy) black hair, warm brown eyes, nicely chiseled features. Apparently he performed on some larger stages before a nasty bout with influenza nearly snuffed him. Now he was slowly trying to find his way back; he and Colin were friends and Colin recommended an audition for Mersey Hall.

"He's truly a good guy," I said in response.

"He certainly is," Hamish replied with a nod.

Rehearsal ended an hour or so later. I saw Colin walking up to a few of my old mates and whispering something in their ears. I wondered if this would be the invitation that would allow me to share my story, the glances a few of the lads and ladies gave me with nods or smiles fully confirmed this. Colin gave the crew a final send-off, though I saw George, Ephraim, Sam, Shannon, Mary, Elias, James, and Georgia and make-up lady staying around

At last only my old friends remained. Colin called everyone into the dressing room, a bottle of wine in his hand and some various cups set out: from proper glasses to silver goblets to clay mugs.

"I think this is an appropriate time to properly welcome back our boy here," Colin said.

Applause rose from the small group with some calls of "here here." Colin poured the wine, everyone took a cup. I was left with one of the nice silver goblets, the one I believe I used to poison Claudius with oh so long ago. I stood at the center, then raised my glass.

"I would like to propose a toast," I said.

Everyone raised their glasses, every face in a genuine smile.

"To the company of old friends, to the immortal words of William Shakespeare, to art, to true talent and creativity, to generosity, to a grand homecoming," I said.

Everyone nodded with each of my words, I saw some wider grins and some hands going to chests.

"To returning to where I belong, to finally being out of so many hells."

I felt the words pour out of me, my emotions rising to the surface. The smiles around me started to relax a little.

"To emerging from a sea of fake bastards with my soul intact. To earning my ultimate freedom, to being in the presence of friends indefinitely. I raise a glass in celebration…"

My hand was shaking, though I felt wonderful. A few smiles returned, though awkward glances and shifting abounded.

"…of my expulsion from the University of Oxford."

I took a large sip, watching eyes widen and mouths drop; savoring a few gasps and echoes of "What?" and "Oh God" going around the circle. I raised a hand bidding peace.

"This is not a tragedy, my friends; mourn not for me, for this was the greatest thing that could ever happen," I said, my tone turning a bit darker. "I have been delivered from hell, please trust me when I say this."

I received a few incredulous looks in response, many voices called for the story. I asked for my friends to sip their drinks in refreshment of my tale. George said "cheers" and toasted back and clinked glasses, the rest joined in with a few stiff laughs.

I shared an even more abbreviated tale than I shared with Colin, trying to be a bit creative and dramatic with my telling. I told about the rumor mongers and the fake little rich boys. I also shared some tales from the Chamberlain Players. James profusely apologized for his earlier comment after hearing these stories, I simply patted him on the shoulder.

"That's when the final confrontation came," I said, my tone like telling some grand tale. "Our hero was going about his daily life, then who should appear but the spoiled theatrical prince. It was a meeting of the fates, two enemies reunited, it was destined to end as messy as possible. The villain rattled his saber, his forked tongue poking out."

I added a few hand gestures in to further demonstrate my tale.

"Out hero thought to simply retreat, for there were greater deeds to be done than have a skirmish with this idiot. Alas, our hero was a bit proud, he engaged in this battle of wits though he knew it would not end well. Our hero tried to settle this score through diplomacy, though his blood was too hot. Such was his fatal flaw, our hero was so weary with the slings and arrows he lost his footing. All it took was a couple fell words from the mouth of the villain for the hero to let loose a bit of might and knocked his arse to the ground. Victory was his, though in the eyes of the rulers it was an act of disobedience. Hence our hero was banished; banished to a life of freedom at last."

Everyone was rapt with my telling. In the end I raised my glass, everyone joined me. The mood relaxed a bit, everyone seemed to understand my victory and gave me what congratulations they could under the circumstances.

We shared a few more glasses of wine. Eventually I did tell them I was trying to set out on my own without family influence. I received much encouragement, though more than a few questions about what I was going to do for money and shelter. Not a worry, I told everyone; I still have a good sized nest built. Of course there were ample warnings not to speak to anyone who asks my whereabouts, everyone swore secrecy. I was further reminded how blessed I was to be in this company.

The wine was almost gone a few glasses later and we moved this celebration to the pub. My cautious mind warned me against sharing too many details or stories. By now I figured Jacob had received the warm letter I sent. I couldn't help but recall the conversation between him and Matthew a few Christmases ago, something about how I could never go behind his back; I recall the term "sheep amongst wolves" was used. Who knew what lackeys he sent to look out for me, though I simply laughed off the thought.

I shared many glasses with my friends, listened to their stories, though after a while I could barely concentrate. I believe I made a remark to someone about celebrating until I passed out. I believe that was the last thing I remember saying. I do recall some more lovely liquors and some singing, perhaps thinking I was an opera star at some point.

I then opened my eyes, daylight searing through my brain. My head was aching something dreadful and I could barely dry heave . I turned over to see myself on some soft white linens and feel the rough, scratchy mattress. I managed to come to my side and saw a simple white room, there was a lovely cross on the wall and a few paintings of some pastoral scenes.

"Ya back from the drink, son?" a female voice with an Irish brogue said not too far from me.

I managed to look up and see a bony woman with a wrinkled face and several missing teeth. Her gray hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and she wore a modest gray dress. I stared at her for a moment; where the hell was I?

The woman approached me with a steaming cup of tea.

"You rest up there, lad," she said. "Oh I'm Sarah, you know my nephew Georgie."

It took my aching mind a moment to make sense of what was being said, then it became clear. That's right, George's Christian name was George Carmody; he's an Irishman in disguise. I must be in his family's house, I can only imagine he dragged me here after last night.

"Sarah…Carmody?" I managed to ask.

"No, Sarah O'Heaney," she said, putting the glass on the side table. "He's from my sister's side."

I nodded, but the stab through my head put me back on the pillow.

"Stay still, lad, you're a sick boy," she said. "George brought you here last night and I swear the Devil was in ya. You were hollering so many mad, awful things. I said a few rosaries over ya and you seemed to come down. Liquor's the blight o' the Devil, I swear it."

"Oh shut yer trap, woman," I heard a man said through the doorway.

I looked over and saw a man with a bushy white beard in a fisherman's cap poking his head through the door.

"Like you never touched a drop in your ruddy life," he said. "Don't go preachin', what was that about castin' stones?"

"Oh get on with ya, Seamus, this lad needs guidance not more bad influence."

The man just looked at me and rolled his eyes.

"Gettin' yer head back on, boyo?" Seamus chuckled.

"Wishing it was fully off," I replied.

Seamus gave a cackle, coughing half way through it.

I was upright after an hour or so. Aunt Sarah served some lovely stew and I had some fine conversation with her and Uncle Seamus. George was off at work, he asked his aunt and uncle to look after me until I was a bit better. I learned a bit more about the family, heard some charming stories. These blokes were far more interesting than any noble or academic I had ever met.

The wonder crossed my mind a couple times of what kinds of "mad, awful things" were coming out of me. Knowing my head they were probably dreadful, knowing these chavs they were probably written off as drunken stupor.


	49. Part 49

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 49**

I kept the company of Aunt Sarah and Uncle Seamus for a few more hours; hearing some of their stories, looking at sketches of a few family members, reading some Bible verses. My head cleared up enough and I decided I was well enough to return to my own quarters. I thanked them amply for their hospitality and wrote a note thanking George for his thoughtfulness.

I did offer a few coins for their pains, but my offer was soundly refused. They had done their Christian duty, that was enough of a reward. I was a bit taken aback by this; I was about to insist, then the message finally got through my thick skull. I wasn't purchasing a service, I was truly being shown kindness; no transactions or tipping was needed. Even these people who lived on such modest means already had a greater reward for their actions. Perhaps it was a lesson I was due to learn, especially as I was now a man of this world and not the padded box of nobility.

We exchanged lovely parting words as I finally left. I exited to the street to find I wasn't in one of the posher sections of town, though that did not bother me all that much. Yes thieves were a potential worry, I knew I would need to have some kind of a weapon on me from now on. Thankfully George also lived just around Leicester Square (probably the reason why I was taken to his house), I was able to orient myself and find my guest house. I returned, greeted by the clerk, and returned to my room.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working on my lines, despite my pounding head I made great progress. I returned to the theater later that afternoon as usual, Colin asked about my head.

"It must be pounding like a hammer, you were pretty into it last night," he chuckled.

I did tell him a little about George's aunt and uncle, he said he met them once a while ago: "Couple of dry old gits, but some of the finest people you'll meet."

Elias added a few more comments: "I won't give you the hammer, I'm sure you're brain has its own." All in good fun, I joked right back. The physical activity and loud noises were a bit straining, though I did everything just fine. Later the actors arrived, I gave George even more thanks.

"Actually I was torturing you, spend enough time with those two and you'll be begging for mercy," he said.

We all had a few good laughs about the previous night. I was told a few stories of some of my more comical moments, thankfully it was all minor. No one mentioned anything about any awful things that slipped past my lips whilst obliterated. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief at this.

From that day on I wrapped myself in my work at the theater like a soft cocoon. By day I was learning my lines, I may not have had that many lines for this part though I had fallen a bit out of practice with my readings. In the afternoon I was at the theater doing whatever I could for the crew. I was willing to go wherever I was needed; painting, building pieces, repairing curtains, sorting costumes, name it.

I bought a few more pairs of simple trousers and shirts, soon I was barely ever wearing kneebritches and stockings. I kept the remains of my hair out of that tight ponytail and was letting it flow more freely. What was the point anymore? Who the hell did I have to impress? I was still changing into some cleaner clothes for rehearsal. A part of me still wanted to look a bit tidier for this occasion, perhaps let my mind make the switch between my two roles.

After that night at the pub and that morning in George's house, I endeavored to take it easy on the liquor. It was part of my undoing at Chamberlain and I was well aware it could bite me even harder here. I didn't become entirely temperate, just avoided some of the stronger stuff.

I was still taking a couple drops of elixir a day, one tiny one in the morning to appease the demon and one at night to get to sleep. I kept the bottle in a drawer during the day, no way in hell was I going to touch this anywhere near my theater time. The thought of being groggy through rehearsal was frightening; the thought of being in such a state around tools, heavy objects, and friends around all of these made my blood run cold.

The demon was swatting me after a few days. My nose was running again, I was jittery, I did all I could to keep from screaming in response to a direction or throw hammers at people for even looking at me. My clothing was soaked in sweat before rehearsal, though I thought this was from all the physical activity I was doing. Then I would change and find my new set of clothes were just as damp after rehearsal, even after just sitting or standing in one place for a while. I still endeavored to fight this demon, no matter what I would finally be free from this hell.

This only enhanced the growing feeling of paranoia in my mind. It had been a little over a week since my grand escape, so far I heard neither hide nor hair from Jacob or any member of the family. A part of me was content knowing they were staying the hell away, another part of me was checking over my shoulder all the time. I would wake sometimes up at night with a start at any little shift or creak.

After the first week and a half I bid farewell to the innkeeper at the Old Soldier and thanked him for his generosity. I found another guest house that was a bit nicer, though the staff were a little less friendly. It was best if I shifted my position from time to time in case anyone was looking for regularity.

In the meantime I embraced every distraction that came my way. I threw myself into my work, asking so many questions and learning all I could about the theater. Soon I was spending time with my fellow actors. George would invite me back to his house a few nights, I was reunited with his lovely aunt and uncle and shared some scrumptious dinners. I learned more about the family, stories that would make me fully appreciate their toughness and resolve.

I then visited Sam and Ephraim at their modest apartment. We would spend a few nights telling jokes, having a few pints, and sharing random stories. They seemed to love a few of my ridiculous tales from the posher side of life, and I made them as ridiculous as possible.

I found myself speaking to Hamish a bit more. After that first night we were talking a bit more. The more time I spent around him, the more I appreciated his gorgeous eyes and chiseled features. Not only was he handsome, he was also very well spoken with a most creative mind. After a while I found myself willing to trust him. I eventually opened up to him a bit more about my background, giving him just a general idea of my situation.

I finally did his accept to visit his apartment and see his string collection. He lived on the top floor of an old building on the skirts of Drury Lane. He turned this attic space into the loveliest studio I had ever seen. So many fiddles, lutes, dulcimers, guitars, you name it were carefully mounted on hooks on the walls. Some came from his family, some were gifts for musical services, some he purchased as cracked shells and restored them to absolute beauty.

I heard a few stories behind these, my mouth frequently dropped to find out how old some of these were or how some were nigh on destroyed before he gave his magic touch. I got some tips on oiling and stringing and made ample mental notes. Turns out he was a bit of a jack of all trades; he was often hired to play in taverns, dance halls, rarely a garden party. He was doing more acting before his illness three months ago, though most of his recovery time was spent in music.

Soon he was handing me a fiddle and bow and he took hold of his own. We played a few folksongs, playing around with different octaves and speeds and making some lovely sounds. It was late at night when I finally left for my quarters, promising I would be back again for another evening of fun.

It was a promise I kept for a few nights afterward. I learned he was a good cook as well and knew a few bawdy jokes. After a few playing sessions, he asked if I would be interested in joining him at some of his jobs.

"Single ones pay a pittance, but do enough and it amounts to some good money," he said. "I could always use a few more warm bodies and you play fiddle better than a lot of chavs."

My curiosity was piqued, though I was still enjoying my light schedule. I did tell him to keep me informed of some good jobs as he heard of them. Perhaps this could pay off in the long run. In the following days I didn't hear anything about any possible jobs, but it was a good indicator he wasn't trying to sell me. We had become friends, though it was a bit harder not to look him all over. As much flirting as I did in King's Crest and Chamberlain, that was more for petty revenge. I had no such desires in my current situation, the last thing I wanted to do was make myself a pariah now.

After another week my paranoia was subsiding. I was too focused on the fun I was having now to care about spies or assassins. I figured if Jacob was that intent on finding me, he would have found me already. So far no one was approaching me and I did not receive any letters. I was now convinced Jacob was respecting the terms of my letter, something that increased my respect for him by more than a few hairs. I would be an idiot to think he didn't know where I was, I was sure he knew the first place to look and I wasn't hiding all that much. I figured he was simply leaving me be.

Truth be told I didn't know if I still had access to the bank account in Westminster or if any tampering had been done. I found I wasn't even pulling from my other accounts either; Colin's wages were actually subsiding me. I found I had become downright stingy with my money. I wasn't exactly subsiding on water and gruel, though I was looking for bargains and not caring about quality as much. I also weaned myself from the habit of tipping everyone. I would throw a few pennies at tavern keepers but that was essentially it.

My largest expense was my living arrangements. I was starting to keep an eye open for modest apartments, though I wanted to wait a little while before settling permanently. My paranoia waned a bit, though I was far from comfortable taking any permanent steps until after the show had been in progress for a while. Jacob may have been leaving me alone, though I knew the Chamberlain twats wouldn't if they found me.

As the show drew closer there was one matter over which I agonized and one that was an occasional topic of conversation between myself and Colin: my stage name. How wise would it be for me to keep the name Richard Morris? I was hardly going to be at the top of the bill, though anyone looking for me would only need to read a playbill a little or speak with an audience member to know I was there.

Colin said I was in a good position to change it if I so desired. I had gained a small measure of fame, though it had indeed been nigh on a year since I had taken the stage; I was now back and in a smaller role. Practically, if I was going to start fresh now was my best window of opportunity. Aside from practicality, Colin advised me to do what was best for my safety. If I was in any danger from any member of my family or anyone from Chamberlain, using a different name would be the wiser idea.

In the end, I had to lay Richard Morris to rest. Keeping that name would not be wise at all under my current circumstances. I thought a little on a new name, though decided to just come up with one on the spot. Such had been the case with Richard Morris, such was now the case with James Warren.

I shared my new stage name with the cast. Everyone was supportive of the decision and most understanding of the reasons behind it. Later that night they toasted to their fellow company member James Warren and his promising future. A little talk started about how I could conceal my appearance further if I needed.

"Just ask Georgia, she can make you look like an elderly Arabian if you wanted," Sam said.

I did take him up on his advice. In all the set preparation I had barely spoken to Georgia about her own work. I decided to have a few chats with the lady about some options for making myself look a bit different, not only that but to inquire a bit more into her work. She was most kind and batted about a few options. In the end the best option was decided for me to powder my hair, give it a bit more of a grayish appearance. My red hair was my most distinguishing characteristic; it was shorter but no less brilliantly colored.

Normally I detested the idea of hair powder in general, never wanting any of the stuff to touch my brilliant locks at all. If I truly wanted to mask some of my appearance and keep the bastards more off my trail this was the best option. She did a test with a few different shades of powder. She applied it rather conservatively, I only sneezed a little though otherwise it was not an unpleasant experience.

When she was done my hair looked more white, even blond in the right light. I did look like a more mature gentleman, though still bearing a measure of youthful handsomeness. It was perfectly fitting my role and it was the perfect concealment. A bit of makeup in the right areas and the look was complete; James Warren was ready to make his stage debut. It was a pain to wash out that night, though this little effort was worth it considering the effects.

As we entered dress rehearsals, I found myself chatting with Georgia a bit more about makeup techniques and costuming. My mind was an open door to every one of her lessons and I learned oh so much. She told me as we got further into the show she would let me try a few things on some of my fellows. Some of my fellows overheard this and had some joking shivers of fear, though more than a few volunteered for my first brush strokes.

Everyone's focus now was on the opening of the show. We put up the final set pieces, sorted out the last costumes, polished off our lines and blocking, the posters were up, everything was ready for the big day, and I had a hand in getting so much of this together. It was such an amazing feeling of accomplishment to see the sets that I helped build and paint and the costumes I helped organize. Being onstage was just the frosting on the cake. I had but a small role, though this coming show meant so much more to me than any other I had been part of.

As the opening drew close, my nerves returned. I had been so well hidden for three weeks, yet here I was about to go back onstage. Would any amount of make up, hair powder, and fake names be able to shield me from those who might be looking for me? Or perhaps no one was searching for me, perhaps I was indeed tossed out to the trash and tossed from memory. Even if I wasn't, was I truly going to stay under a safe cover for the rest of my bloody life? The thought of it sickened me more than the thought of running into unfriendly parties.

Fuck all of them, if I did nothing but hide the bastards would win. I finally had my freedom, I wasn't going to allow myself to be chained up into another dungeon of my own making. What if they did find me? What did it bloody matter? It's not like I've never been roughed up before and it's sure as hell not like I've never killed someone. No one would ever trap me. Anyone who tried — any college brat, any constable, any family member, any assassin or mercenary — would die, simple as that. If they pulled me down with them I didn't give a shit, I'd rather die fighting than die in captivity.

These were my words of strength going into the final dress rehearsal. These words stayed with me the afternoon I arrived at the theater to get ready for the big show.

I had a wonderful distraction in all the bustle and sweat backstage. All set pieces and props were moving into their final positions. Elias went over striking procedure; after my scenes I was to remove my toga and take part in striking and setting up the sets for each scenes. This was going to be so much more fun than just waiting around for my next scene, this time I was contributing in so many more ways. We finished getting everything in order just as the cast arrived. I then changed into a pair of stockings and a tunic for my set work, then had my hair powdered and my makeup done with everyone else. I finally donned my toga, fastening the rope belt to keep it sturdy yet not too tightly so it could be removed. There were more than a few jokes about me having to rip off my clothes at proper intervals.

As 7 o'clock drew nearer my stomach was in knots and my hands were shaking. So many nerves were creeping up on me. The lingering worry about whether I would attract unwanted attention was not going away, though the fact I had not been on this stage for nearly a year made my blood run cold. What if all my nerve and focus was gone? What if I was past my prime? What if the voices of the Chamberlain bastards would perpetually haunt me?

I tried to push out all these thoughts, though my friends helped greatly with this process. There were so many words of encouragement, so many pats on the shoulder, so many reminders of my past glories. I was feeling a bit more relaxed when the clock marked quarter before the hour. I took off my toga and readied myself to get into position for the first scenes.

At last Colin came out, announcing a sizable crowd. I breathed one more clearing breath; I was ready for this, I knew I was. He gave us the usual preparation speech and gave us a few pointers on what to look for. He specifically advised me to follow the leads of the backstage crew: "You've practiced enough, though you'll learn more in execution."

He then had us bow our heads in prayer, asking God for His guidance and good fortune up on stage.

"And bless our good friend Grell as he returns to his home with all of us," Colin prayed. "We know he's got this, just give him a bit of peace and clarity."

I smiled widely at these words, feeling a few bats on the shoulder and back from my fellows. I knew I was truly in good company.

Soon all the final preparations were made, everyone was taking their places. I was now helping get the flats and benches in place for the first scene. I took a moment to look up, seeing the curtain was closed yet hearing all the different muttering voices on the other side. A whole audience was out there to see us…to see me, to see my work. A bit of pride swelled in my chest at the thought. At last we were out, I took a position backstage to watch the action and get ready to move into position. The curtain opened, Flavius and Marullus greeted a small group of commoners. I could see every brushstroke and nail I contributed to that wooden wall. The audience was now seeing my work; not just me, my own blood and sweat. I was even more excited now.

The scene ended and the lamps went down. I rushed onstage with my fellow stagehands, at first hoping my make-up wouldn't run off with my sweat, though soon my only thought was getting the bigger walls and columns up for the next big scene. I only remembered when I saw my toga hanging up that I would be in that first scene; I had no lines yet though I would certainly be in view. I threw on my toga, adjusted my belt, then lined up with the rest of the senators. Here was the final moment of truth, though now my heart was pumping with excitement. I took a few breaths, then walked out with everyone as the lights rose.

In that moment I was an older, dignified Roman joining his fellows behind the emperor (or James in this case). I walked out under the lights, seeing the shadows of people just meters away from me. All of them were looking at me now; anyone friend or foe was now seeing me right out in the open. I held back a smile and kept in character, though I was now giddy. I was truly returning home; I was back on the stage where I belonged. Here I was a hunted man standing in front of a few hundred people out in the open. My presence on this stage was a loud declaration of "Fuck you all."

I reacted in bemused annoyance to the sudden words of the soothsayer and followed the party out to leave Brutus and Cassius to their plotting. I then stepped of the stage, immediately yearning to be back on. I was itching through their speeches for the moment when the procession returned. In the meantime watching Sam and George in their conversation was keeping my nicely distracted. I had forgotten how wonderful their delivery was; truly were men of great talent.

Finally I had my chance to line up with the rest. We went back out, my heart leapt again to be back on that stage. It was another brief moment, though I knew I would have more time and with lines in just a short while. I immediately regretted ever doubting whether I could do this. It was off with the party again, this time I was taking off my tunic to get ready for the next set changes.

This role was a nice distraction from the new unease in my chest for my upcoming scene. I would finally have lines this time. The thought crossed my mind that if I was concealed by my hair and makeup, my voice would give me more away. It was less of a concern now, my elation at being back outweighed any lingering worries.

When my grand moment came, I donned my toga and readied the few lines I had. I was more than ready for this. I went out when instructed for the scene in Brutus' garden. I greeted George with a handshake, he squeezed a little harder and gave me a warm glance when he welcomed me into his orchard. His declaration of "He is welcome too" was a bit louder and accompanied by a nod. It wasn't just an in-character welcome; he were fully welcoming me back here. Every nerve vanished and a great warmth filled my heart.

My line in the middle of the scene was delivered as if it were me speaking it and not my character. I added to the conversation later as I was supposed to like another conspirator. Then I gave my longer speech with great comfort and ease. All the lines fell in place as if this were truly conversation and these were the words I was destined to say. Then I joined the rest of the conspirators and walked offstage, leaving Brutus with his wife.

I descended the stairs with a light step and a light laugh.

"Feels bloody good, doesn't it," Sam said.

"It's like I never left," I chuckled.

I removed my toga and struck the set at the end of the scene, setting up for Caesar's house. Soon would be the moment of my most important lines. I got my toga back on as Calpurnia and Caesar spoke of her ill dreams. Georgia touched up my hair a little and fixed a few smudges on my makeup, then sent my on my way with a push.

I went back on stage, greeting Caesar to bring him to his moment of doom. I approached as a friend, listening to the emperor and his wife's concerns. Then I interpreted her dream, delivering my lines as if imparting some wisdom. I felt it were my victory that Caesar was put at ease and agreed to come to the senate. How wonderful it felt to know I was successful in leading a man to his death.

Caesar would fall into our trap not too long after. I waited anxiously in the senate seats with a wooden dagger under my robes. I knew how this would go, history knew what would happen, yet somehow I still felt that excitement. I suddenly remembered Alan Fairfield's words of advice: act as your character, don't become engrossed into thinking you are your character. Perhaps it was wise advice, it was wise to salvage and clean off the word as it might have been intended but certainly not how it was delivered. Perhaps I could spare myself a bit of grief. It was this thought that made my hand a little steadier and my heartbeat a bit slower; I focused more on the action instead of feeling everything my character was.

I still gleefully took part in the stabbings under the arm and against the robe, being careful only to lightly tap James and not to actually injure him. I made sure to mind myself; I was indeed a murderer but in pantomime here. I could savor Caesar's dying words to Brutus before falling, though still noticing James still breathing when he want down. I mentally thanked Alan for his lovely advice, followed by the pleasing thought of the loud crack from his jaw after my boot met it.

I gathered in the mob feeling most invigorated, it was somewhat disappointing to know this would be one of my last meaningful moments onstage. I stood off to the side as Brutus and Antony had their conversation. I believe it was then that I realized how good an actor Hamish was. His delivery was rushed in a few places, though his emotion made up for any weak spots. I had seen him do Antony's speech many times in rehearsals, I knew of his talent then though now I was getting a sense he was holding something back. Now I couldn't wait to see him deliver it during a show.

A set change and some crowd scenes later I had my opportunity. Hamish was giving everything here. His delivery started polite, then faded into disciplined emotion. By the end it was pure rage; I felt as if I was one of the commoners moved to riot. I tried to keep my expression even to stay in character, though any look of awe would be characteristic in a way. In character I was a man being publicly buried with the rest of my fellows by a normally collected individual who earlier promised his cooperation. Amazement was to be expected.

I rushed out with the rest of my fellow conspirators, avoiding the angry mob of all of five players. I then found myself backstage, my scenes done for the evening. Oh well, I still had an entire show worth of scene changes to go. I took off my toga and kept it off for the rest of the evening. I might have been backstage most of the time, though I had the privilege of watching the rest of the play and experiencing the talent around me. It was such a refreshing change from the Chamberlain Society, plus I had been away for so long I could benefit from watching some talented players.

By the time Brutus ran on his blade I was sore in a few places and a bit winded; it was a righteous sensation. I put my toga back on for curtain call as I watched Hamish and Ephraim as Octavius give their final lines. Hamish's toga was slipping a little on his shoulder, I noticed he did not have another shirt on underneath. He was a bit bony but had some nice muscle structure. I wanted to examine a little further, though the shouts and rushing around backstage pulled my attention away. I simply smiled in spite of myself, I was being silly anyway.

The curtain closed, all of us lined up for curtain call. The ropes were pulled, then we went out a few at a time. I went out with a group of minor conspirators, all of us holding hands and raising arms. The applause was thunderous, it soothed my very soul and made my heart beat with pride. It was a sound I had so missed, an experience I had nearly forgotten but received a miraculous reminder. The rest of the cast came on, all of us clasped hands and took a deep bow. The cheers and claps echoed off the walls and projected to the heavens. My face ached with the threat of tears; I was truly home.

The curtain closed and all of us rushed backstage in jubilation. So many embraces and handshakes for a job well done, so many recollections of parts that were done perfectly or received the best reactions. As the rush died down, the cast went out to the lobby for the usual greetings. I stayed behind, suddenly reminded of reality.

No one questioned why I stayed, everyone just said they would be back and we would go to the pub for a grand celebration. I tried not to look as they went out, I pulled my attention towards Elias and all the props that needed sorting out. This was my job after all and I loved it…I so loved staying behind to avoid getting beaten up or shot. Happy sayings went through my head as I cleaned up backstage with the rest of the crew, happy sayings I was starting to believe after a while. Then the cast came back changed from their costumes, I was part of them again; though this time I was helping even more by cataloguing costumes. Let them have their little pithy audience greetings, I was busy this evening with tasks of mush greater importance.

At last everything was packed and settled. I joined the cavalcade to the pub for some opening night celebrations. The first round of drinks I had were paid for, I was the subject of a few toasts around the table. All of us were in such high spirits. I believe I heard one warning not to get as soused as I did that first night, I made the effort though apparently not that well.

I just remember laughing, embracing, singing, somehow I recall Hamish was wearing a cologne that smelled like orchids and leather. I remember being truly happy. I wasn't happy before, I was miserable before. I was in a cage with human bars and expected to stay docile, but I punched and killed my way out. The world couldn't reach me, I was in my own lovely world. Why did I waste so much time? My life would be so short and I wasted most of it on my own cowardice.

My elation was replaced by violent illness, every part of my body was filled with poison. All I could do was weep and scream; my stomach surged and muscles were in spasms trying desperately to purge the venom. My aching, chilled body was comforted by a warm embrace. Arms wrapped around my body soothed my trembles, in my desperation and panic I suddenly felt protected. At last I drifted into a peaceful sleep in the safe arms if my protector.

My eyes slowly opened. It felt like my brain was trying to break out of my skull and my stomach was in riot, though I did have some sense I was awake. I was lying down on a mattress, warm arms still around me. My sensitive nose caught the scent of orchids and leather, it wasn't long before I made a single recollection that put a smile on my face. I was about to turn and face my companion, though my stomach had other plans. I leaned over the bed and gagged, nothing was left to purge and my throat ached with the action.

I was gradually propped up, a hand held my hair back and I hacked a bit more. A few juices came out, which was enough to quell my stomach for a moment. I took a few deep breaths, my eyes were watering like mad.

"You stayed with me all night, didn't you?" I said, knowing what voice would respond.

"You needed it," I heard Hamish's voice say.

I chuckled.

"I apologize for inconveniencing you," I said, my voice still weak.

"I consider this my charitable deed for the day," he responded.

I took a hard breath as a smile came over my face. I slowly leaned back, resting my head against his shoulder. His hand ran over my hair, I leaned into his touch. I felt his other arm wrap a bit more around my body, my hand dropped onto his and my thumb lightly caressed his flesh. I felt his embrace gently tighten. I huge smile came over my face, I had never felt so comfortable and so protected in so long.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Upstairs from where we were last night," Hamish replied. "You were in a pretty bad way, Colin insisted you stay here and I took you up."

I gave a hard sigh that put another sting through my head. I was so embarrassed, this was the second time Colin and my friends had seen me in such a state. Apparently I was worse this time than last time, that only made me feel a little more like a fool.

"I feel like such an idiot," I groaned.

"Happens to the best of us, I'm surprised not more of us were laid up like this," Hamish said. "You should have seen Sam, Ephraim was practically dragging him out by the hair."

I guffawed, ignoring another stab through my head. Hamish chuckled as well, I felt the tip of his nose press lightly against my shoulder.

"And what of you, were you a good boy last night?" I asked, my hand coming up and patting the side of his face.

"Relatively, my stomach isn't quite as strong as it used to be," he replied. "My carousing days are mostly over."

"You poor boy."

He gently nuzzled against my hand.

"Pity me not, I just find other ways to amuse myself," he said.

"Oh, anything you would recommend? Perhaps I should be cutting my carousing days short as well."

"It makes for some dull moments, though you appreciate your surroundings a bit better. You hear the music, laugh a little louder, appreciate more pretty faces."

The backs of his fingers brushed against my face, I leaned into his touch lightly rubbing my lips over his skin.

"I certainly have an appreciation for pretty faces already, I wouldn't mind getting more of one," I said.

I moved my aching head a bit and looked up at him. He looked at me and smiled, my hand ran through his soft black hair. Hamish gently leaned down, I tilted my head up a bit, his nose rubbed against mine and I let out a soft sigh.

"May I be bold?" he said gently.

"Yes, oh please do be bold," I replied.

He leaned down, his lips pressing against mine. My hand found a hold of the side of his face and I opened my mouth slightly to meet his kiss. His breath was not pleasant, though I barely cared. I ran my hand through his hair, feeling his hand caress the side of my face. My aches hid for this moment, I was now enveloped in warm peace.

I don't know how long we shared such a tender moment, though it was not to last. He slowly pulled away, looking at me with a smile.

"I think we should pick this up another time," he said.

"Yes, it is important not to be hasty," I replied. "A lady like me wants a proper courting."

"And a lady such as you shall receive one," he said, kissing me on the forehead.

"Roses and jewels are a plus but not a necessity."

"The lady will have to settle for serenades and picnics."

"It will do."

He snickered and placed a soft kiss on my lips before drawing back.

Eventually my headache backed off enough so I could actually get up. I took one look in the mirror to see my hair still covered in powder. Hamish helped me wash it off in a basin, the feel of his slender fingers over my scalp was so lovely. At last my hair was its beautiful red hue. I ran a towel through it, realizing how much easier my hair was to dry at this length. He ran his hands through my hair, complimenting such a rich color.

"Flattery gets you everywhere," I replied, kissing him on the chin.

He escorted me out of the room, I gave an extra tip to the innkeeper for putting up with me that night. He simply nodded and bid me good day. We walked back to my guest house, Hamish kept a few yards away. How I wanted to link arms with him and walk down the street like every other lord and lady pair we passed. I'm sure we would make up for this lost time later.

We walked into my guest house and ascended the stairs to my room. The moment we were in and the door was shut we could share light kisses again. Alas he had some preparations to do for another performance that afternoon. He took my hands and kissed my fingers, then looked at me thoughtfully.

"I fancy you, Grell," he said. "It's proper I declare that."

My heart leapt up in my chest, I was tingly all over.

"And I as well," I said.

He looked at me thoughtfully.

"Have you ever had affections with another man?" he asked.

It was such a careful question, or perhaps he didn't want someone inexperienced.

"I have," I answered with a nod. "Many times, though the definition of 'affections' is subjective."

He nodded.

"I am comfortable with my own preferences and I care little for imposed morality."

"I as well," I snickered. "You're hardly pulling me into temptation, merely tickling my fancy."

Hamish chuckled and caressed my face.

"You're a handsome man of great talent, Grell," he said. "I wish to know you better, though affections are sacred to me."

"And I as well."

"I…have given myself too easily to too many people, if you get my meaning; men and women both."

I nodded with great understanding.

"I have no intentions of doing the same with you,' he continued. "We have not known each other long and you are so young and fresh to the world."

I gave a mocking chuckle.

"Hamish, please, I might be young though I'm far from innocent," I said. "Don't worry about protecting purity that died a long time ago."

Hamish smiled a little and nodded.

"Still I do not wish to squander anything," he replied. "If my illness taught me anything it was savor life more, and certainly savor love and friends. I wish to savor our company, not use it cheaply."

I smiled and nodded. His meaning was clear and I found it so refreshing.

"I like your philosophy and I wish to follow it too," I said. "I have never had a man be such a gentleman to me in these affairs."

He placed a soft kiss on my lips, our fingers entwining with each other.

"You deserve better than you have received and I shall do my best to give it to you," he said.

We gradually drew back, he gave me one more kiss on the cheek and bid his fond farewells. I opened the door for him and gave him my goodbyes, we would be seeing each other later that day anyway though it already felt like an eternity.

At last he left. I collapsed on my bed in a fit of maddening giggles.


	50. Part 50

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Author's Note:** There is some heavy conversation about the topic of suicide in this chapter, wanted to give a head's up if that topic bothers anyone.

**Part 50**

The memory of Hamish's kiss and the warmth of his arms around me was enough to soothe my aching head for the rest of the day. I counted down the hours when I would see him again; we had only been apart for but a few hours but already I yearned. I was a giddy maiden waiting for her suitor, I had never felt so swept off my feet.

He was so unlike every other man I had ever shared company with. He was a true gentlemen, not a lusty little boy. He was an artist and not just a boy using art patronage to make himself look good. He was also a man of humble means making a living in his art. That alone I had to admire, in fact it made him a bit more attractive to me. There was no fussing about title and propriety here, he was free of all of these; it was likely he had never known any of these things. I just only hoped I would never subject him to the same expectations. I despised my previous life, though that had been my viewpoint for too long. It was something I could purge with his help.

My headache was present through muted when I arrived at the theater that afternoon. My mind was so filled with fancies I had forgotten all about how I might have made a spectacle of myself the night before. More than a few chaps were coming up to me asking if I was all right, I simply nodded and thanked them for their concerns. I figured I must have been that bad last night. Soon Colin was walking up to me. He greeted me and put a hand on my shoulder, asking if I had a moment for a quick chat. I was amiable, though put at some unease.

He pulled me aside in his office, saying he just wanted to check up on me a little. He asked if Hamish took care of me. I tried not to giggle and ramble on, instead I replied with an even tone that he watched over me with great kindness.

"Grell, I don't know how much you recall from last night, but you got yourself into a rough state," he said. "You were screaming, weeping, fainting at times, retching, you were most ill. Hamish volunteered to take you on and I did leave with great concern. I'm not saying this out of some prudish judgment, I'm addressing this as a friend. I know you have not had an easy few months and I know your pain runs deep. When I heard some of the things you were saying last night, I had the feeling your aches are far deeper behind that smiling face of yours."

I shifted uncomfortably, I almost resented the fact he was saying this to me.

"All of us carouse, that's hardly a scandal, but this is the second time that you got so bad it was frightening," Colin continued. "Knowing what you have gone through, I hope you're not trying to drink away your fears."

I let out a hard sigh and put a hand through my hair. I just wanted to melt through the floor. Colin put a hand on my shoulder.

"Grell, all I want to tell you is locking away your pain in hopes it will vanish will only destroy you," he said. "You are among friends here; should you need counsel or simply a friendly word we are all here for you."

I looked him in the eyes, his worried expression stung through my heart.

"I appreciate this so much, Colin," I said, my voice tense. "No, things have not been easy for me and perhaps I have been doing the wrong things to deal with it. I confess I have a very hard time trusting people right now."

"And with great reason," Colin replied with a nod. "I know it will take you a while before you lower your walls to anyone, I am merely showing you an open door."

"Thank you," I said. "I certainly will try."

He patted me on the shoulder and opened the office door. We left with light chatter, though my cheeks were hot and I was trembling. I couldn't be angry at him for saying anything. This wasn't a lecture from Matthew or Jacob about my poor decorum, this was a word from a friend truly concerned for my welfare. I wasn't in the best state, I did get myself into a mess last night, and I knew it. Dear God what the hell was coming out of my mouth last night? That thought scared me more than how ill I became.

After this no one else mentioned the previous night, we just went back to business. My head gradually cleared up, the physical effort made my stomach turn at first but after a while my blood was a flowing and the toxins were making their way out. I barely paid attention to the time until someone told me it was almost 6. It was time for the players to arrive; it was time for me to see darling Hamish again.

My heart fluttered, my lingering sense of discomfort was replaced by pure elation. I went over a plan in my head of how I would properly greet him. I truly wanted to just rush into his arms and kiss him, alas that wasn't possible. I would save my kisses for when we were in private company, they would be more meaningful that way.

I went out to the dressing room a little later than anticipated, Hamish was right there chatting with James and Mary. We made eye contact and my cheeks flushed. He threw me a wink and a smile.

"Oh good, you're still on your feet," he said.

I returned his smile and walked up to him, clasping his hand in a brotherly way.

"With your help," I said, keeping my tone friendly. "Ever thought of going into medicine?"

"Nope, I'd rather make money," he replied.

We laughed and I let go of his hand, though I felt the tip of his finger casually run across my palm. My body tingled, though I kept my composure.

"I'd say that makes him a saint," Ephraim said.

"How dare you accuse me of being a saint," Hamish replied with mock indignation.

We all laughed at this, perhaps I laughed a little harder. The rest of the lads and lasses did inquire how I was feeling, though no one seemed to want to talk about it that much. Given what Colin told me, I must have been a fright. I couldn't blame them for not wanting to say anything, I wanted to move on from that rubbish myself.

Hamish and I socialized like good chums, it was only appropriate considering the kindness he showed to me the previous night. We kept apart, but there were plenty of glances, pithy compliments, and the occasional pat on the back between us; it was our special secret that linked us together.

We went about the second night as normal. As magical as that opening night was, that second night felt even better. I had the scene changes all practiced, I was polishing my performance, most importantly all my nerves and reservations completely vanished. All the rust had been knocked off and I felt shiny and new. The applause that night felt so much sweeter.

I will admit I was still feeling a small sting when everyone went out for the meet and greet. The ache wasn't as profound from the other night, though still present. In turn I put more of my efforts into my clean-up tasks. My mood slightly improved when everyone returned and we all chatted a bit. Some were going to the pub, but I just wanted to go home. Hamish volunteered to walk me home, such a gentlemanly gesture.

We engaged in light chatter on the way back to my guesthouse. He had a job first thing in the morning and couldn't loiter about too long. He did walk me into my room, close the door, and give me a warm kiss. I fell into his arms and savored his lips, caressing his cheek and holding him as close to me as I could. I could feel his heart beating and savored his breath against my face. I wanted to lie on the bed with him and simply rest in his arms, unfortunately time was against us.

He gave me one last kiss, then caressed my hair.

"Would you have time to visit my place after the show tomorrow?" he asked. "I should be a bit more available then."

I simply nodded. He told me he would leave the theater first and I was to come by twenty minutes after he left. Considering how paranoid I was in these matters, I understood his reasoning; no need for creating suspicion or rumors. He then kissed my hand and bade me goodnight. I opened the door for him and watched him walk out, turning one more glance in my direction as he walked out.

We remained casual friends the next day, though with the same occasional glances. After the show that night I saw him leave, soon after I was meandering out the door and walking around the block. It was a lovely trip around Drury Lane; seeing all the well-dressed theater goers and all the vendors. Once upon a time I was one of those dressed to the top chaps going into one of those carriages. Someday I would be inside one of those theaters and right onstage; it had to happen, I was sure of it.

My musings of the theatrical kind turned to musings of the heart when I reached his apartment. He greeted me at the door with a warm smile and a look of honest happiness. I closed the door and we exchanged kisses right away. He made a lovely meal, we sat close to each other and dined; the tip of my toe occasionally trailing up his pant leg, his fingers running over my knee.

We played music, we chatted, we had a few glasses of wine. We spent the end of the evening in each other's arms, kissing in beautiful comfort. I was so happy simply being with him I didn't give a toss if we were fully clothed. I found myself preferring it this way. I had way too many cheap lays in my lifetime, this was lovelier. We parted with kisses and light words at the end of the evening. I was practically dancing through the streets on the way home.

It was a lovely routine we continued. Some nights were spent at my place, some were spent at his. I changed guest houses and found myself in one with a nicer stove and a table and chair set. This was perfect for some evening dinners and talks over tea. I dug out my violin at last, Hamish gave me a few tips on how to oil and tune it. After his words of advice it was playing better than it ever had.

At the theater we maintained a casual friendship. A few did comment how good of friends we became, only natural considering how he helped me after opening night. I still visited Sam and Ephraim and George and his lovely family from time to time. One night Colin invited a few of us over to the gorgeous yet modest apartment he shared with Aunt Roberta. It was a lovely night of chatting, singing, not to mention some of Aunt Roberta's delicious cooking. Some other nights I would go home alone. It was a nice arrangement; Hamish and I spent time together when we could and all the time we spent was glorious.

It was around the end of July when Hamish did ask me to join him on a job. He said he had been avoiding the topic before to not sound needy, though this time he had one show he knew I would greatly enjoy. I happily accompanied him, violin in hand, to a huge tavern in a humbler part of Westminster. We met up with some of this other friends, it was lovely meeting them for the first time; I introduced myself as Jack and Hamish played right along. Everyone was friendly, though a few sizing-up looks in my direction and glances amongst each other told me a few things.

The location was more like an old feast hall than your average cramped pub. The room was massive, benches and tables were set up everywhere. I saw a bevy of plainly clothed people talking, laughing, drinking, eating, just having a good time. We had a quick rehearsal and tune-up, then we took position in this corner not far from the bar and played. Barely anyone paid attention to us, occasionally a glass or a bottle would fly by our heads. We were heckled, we were praised, a few coins dropped in the cup beside us. I had a wide smile on my face the whole time.

We played for quite a few hours, the time just flew by for me. It was around 1 in the morning when we broke for the night. The mistress of the house gave a small sack of coins to Hamish and sent us on our merry way. Hamish gave us each an equal share, I was going away with five shillings. I certainly considered this an evening well spent. I told Hamish as we were leaving to consider me for future shows, I had so much fun that night.

A few days later he did ask me to join him for another show at another tavern and I gleefully accepted. This one was just the two of us at a little higher-end establishment; the crowd was a bit calmer and ignored us a bit more, though I still enjoyed myself. We both got six pence for this show, an even better wage than last time.

A few days later Hamish came to me with a few suggestions, I listened through the list of taverns, though he named off one garden party at some lord's townhouse. I nearly accepted, though a voice of warning suddenly went off in my head. How wise would it be for me to play at some noble gathering? How many of the guests might recognize me? I politely declined this offer. I just needed to say a few words in reason for Hamish to understand fully and apologize for being careless. It was no trouble, I said; I was the one responsible for choosing my own situation. Then I had a sudden thought.

"You know, I just made an amusing realization," I said with a sad smile. "We're two weeks into August and I'm only now remembering the high season is almost finished. This time last year and the year before I had spent most of my summers with a drink in hand trying to be witty."

Hamish chuckled a little.

"Missing anything," he asked.

"Hardly," I replied with a wicked smile.

This lingering thought stayed in my mind for our next few shows. How many times had I simply passed by musicians at taverns and parties or even on the street without a second thought? Not even a year after passing them for the last time at whatever party I was at, here I was on the opposite end. Anyone else would look at me with pity at this turnaround, I thought I had the best vantage point.

We did take a job at the birthday party for some barrister's kid. Hamish and I were joined by another one of his friends. This was a more modest crowd compared to the private gatherings I was used to, though the smell of money and the amount of noses in the air was abundant. All the children were screaming brats, and all the adults chatted about paperwork and magistrates and gardens and households. I was smiling the whole time, each passing conversation made me smile wider. How much would any of these wankers give to be in my position? Here I was the luckiest man in the world.

The last two weeks of August were rather busy. Hamish and I along with whoever else he had with him played so many different pubs and parties. Everyone was savoring the season as much as they could. I still refused to play at parties with any significant high society presence, Hamish understood though the little details he tossed out of how much money he was making weakened that resolve a little. By now I was pondering if I could do this and get away with being unrecognized. All I needed to do was remember Georgia's tutelage and know I had a chance.

I agreed to take a job at the townhouse of this Lord Weston; Hamish asked if I really felt comfortable going this, I replied I wanted to at least give it a try. I arrived in a nice outfit, my hair pulled back into a ponytail and powdered like mad. With the light powder on my face, I looked like a nondescript musician at a high end affair. Hamish was also looking rather smart in his blue coat, his black hair pulled into a ponytail with a little bit of a curl at the end.

I played some pleasant music to accompany the witty jokes and currying favor. I didn't immediately recognize anyone thankfully, though no one was exactly looking at me at all; the benefit of being an accoutrement. At the end of the party the butler paid us our keep and scooted us on our merry way. I left there with ten pence in my pocket

I did not limit myself from that point on. Eventually I found this passable looking wig in the storage closet, snuck it back home with me, cleaned it up a bit, and wore it to a few occasions. There were a few parties where I did see some old familiar faces, though no one entirely familiar. Not one eye was turned toward me, it felt so wonderfully dangerous to be this close to people who kissed my arse as a noble who wouldn't even look on me now as a hired man. I didn't want to think on what could happen if I was recognized, though the threat excited me. I did keep ears open for any familiar names, thankfully hearing none. My fears were somewhat allayed and the generous pay honeyed the experience.

At the same time the play was still in full swing. We were drawing good sized crowds and the applause at the end was nice and loud. Georgia was teaching me much about costumes and make-up. I finally had the opportunity to put brushes to a few of my friends. There were quite a few recitations of "Try not to poke my eye out" and "If I look like an old whore, you'll be in trouble." I laughed along, though I laughed even more when they looked in the mirror and smiled.

I was learning how to sew, soon I was patching ripped seams and holes from snags. I also finished off a few sleeves for some new creations. The more I practiced and the better I got, the more a few ideas came into my mind. Perhaps I could make my own dress, perhaps I could replace the one I left behind at Chamberlain with a lovely creation of my own making. This certainly encouraged me to learn and practice as much as I could.

Colin announced to us one evening he would soon reveal the title of the autumn comedy. I was a bit surprised, I couldn't believe it was that late already. It seemed like we had just started "Julius Caesar," now the fall comedy was nigh. I couldn't believe how much time had passed already. Last year at this time I was readying my goodbyes. Last year at this time I was filled with an unease and melancholy I tried to push behind as silliness. The final show this year would not be such a painful exercise, it wouldn't end with me riding home and…

The thought lingered heavy in my head. It was almost a year since my accident, no it was almost a year since I had made a very rash decision. I processed the thought later that evening. I was in my guest house, Hamish volunteered to help wash the powder out of my hair. In that moment seated at the table leaning over the basin all the thoughts came to me at once.

Last year I was pushing myself to be happy, but I was a sullen little boy being lead around. Where was I a year later? I was in a modest guest house, my handsome suitor washing the powder from my hair after a successful night onstage, tomorrow afternoon I would be playing at a garden party.

The family was behind me, Oxford was behind me, nobility was behind me, a few lingering aches remained in my reality…laudanum remained very much in my reality. The demon was satisfied at last with those few drops I took a day, though it was far from gone.

"You look like you're trying to solve every riddle in the universe," Hamish said.

I pulled myself from my thoughts and chuckled. I nearly came up with a witty reply, though something stopped me. Hamish toweled off my hair, I looked in his eyes and smiled. I wanted to trust him, I wanted to know he truly cared for me. Why not let him in on a little secret?

"I was thinking about Colin's announcement tonight," I said. "Now I'm thinking about what manner of role do I want to play, how much do I want to work on crew and how much do I want more lines. Last year at this time none of that was an option."

Hamish nodded, I took hold of the towel and started drying off my own hair.

"You were getting ready to go to Oxford, weren't you?" he asked.

I simply nodded in response.

"It was a bad time for me, Hamish, a most dark time," I replied. "I didn't want to leave, I thought I was simply fulfilling my duty."

"And that ended well."

I chuckled a bit.

"Indeed," I continued. "It…it didn't begin all that easily either."

"I did hear about the accident," Hamish replied. "Colin and a few others mentioned it to me after you came back. Apparently that nosy brother of yours actually told Colin what happened."

"Yes, and they were a most healing presence at my bedside. It was one of the few times I considered Jacob a decent guy."

That was all before he apparently turned a blind eye to my presence in London. That was another thought that had gone through my mind more than a few times as of late.

"At least he was good for something," Hamish said with a smile.

I snickered back and nodded. His smile slightly relaxed.

"You had a troubled time, but you survived," Hamish said. "I would say you went onto even better things."

"That I did," I responded a small sigh sneaking out. I could just stop here but I didn't want to. "I did survive that whole thing; I was twisted and bruised, laid up and drugged for a while," that last one still rang true, though I held my tongue, "but still survived. The truth of the matter is…" I paused, oh how the hell was I going to say this. "It was a disappointment at the time."

The corners of Hamish's mouth dropped and his eyes slightly widened. I leaned back in my chair, Hamish pulled out another and took a heavy seat. The last bits of reluctance I had to say this were vanishing. I laid the towel on the table and looked at him.

"I was going to take this to my grave, though I want to be able to trust you," I said.

"You can, Grell, you have my word," he replied.

"The truth is…that was not entirely an accident."

He stared at me, a sad yet understanding look on his face.

"I was riding home after my last show," I started. "I was completely drunk at the time, my thoughts were running away from me as I rode. I thought on my situation, my desperation, my lack of control. I thought on my life like a pathetic story: wouldn't it be ironic if I should lose control of my horse, tumble over that hay wagon over there, and break my neck in the fall? What should happen but the first part of that? As for the last part, a loose nail snagging my coat thwarted that end."

"Oh God, Grell," Hamish sighed.

He rose from his seat and went on his knees before me, his arms wrapping around my midsection. I returned his embrace and kissed him on the top of his head.

"I remember feeling disappointed at first, then when I realized I was alive I was more embarrassed," I continued. "I felt like an utter fool for even thinking it. I…" thought of a subject I had kept so hidden for so much longer. Perhaps I could trust Hamish with this as well. "I had a lover in grammar school who took his own life."

Hamish's embrace tightened.

"I remember thinking at the time what a bloody coward he was," I said, my voice cracking. "How dare he leave like that. I felt awful knowing I had just attempted the same thing."

"But you weren't successful," Hamish said into my ear. "God saved you in that moment. That little nail was His hand catching you, telling you it wasn't your time."

I chuckled a bit sarcastically.

"Why in blazes would God want to save me?" I replied. "I haven't done Him any favors."

"Neither have I," Hamish replied. "We're God's unruly children, though I'm sure He's the type of father who loves unconditionally. Besides men set most of the standards on what constitutes as sin."

"Like us being together?"

"Exactly. Love is God's creation and Christ's message."

Still, there were still a few sins on my soul of the kind God would not excuse. I smirked a little at the thought; perhaps Goes does watch out for His children no matter how unruly they become.

"You a religious man, Hamish?" I asked

"Not by any idiot's definition, but I am a believer. And I believe you and I are here for a reason. I survived my ordeal, you survived yours, and we're in each others arms now. This is God's plan, I know this."

I leaned my forehead against his shoulder, his words sinking in deep.

"Do you regret surviving?" he asked.

I shook my head against his shoulder.

"Perhaps God did indeed have a plan for me," I replied.

I doubted His plan included a lot of bloodshed, but perhaps the ends justified the means. Perhaps this was indeed all part of the plan. I had the silly thought through my head that some of this might have been foretold:

"Just wait until next year, he won't disappoint."

Words from a dodgy butcher in a suit. How ironic was it that this turn of events happened this year? I brushed the thought away. Oh Arthur, how I wasn't going to miss you.

I raised my head and looked at Hamish. How lucky a man was I to have him by my side.

"I want to trust you," I said.

"You can," he replied. "You have my confidence."

"On your word."

"On my absolute word."

I gazed at him, hoping everything I heard was absolute sincerity. I so wanted him to be different from every other man in my life, perhaps this was indeed my happiness. I leaned in and kissed him, he kissed me back with calm passion. That moment was paradise to me.

The dark memory was softened from that point on. August closed, September made its start for another year. I celebrated the end of the social season with a generous amount of coin in my pocket. Our schedules lightened up a bit, though there would always be taverns and parties looking for musicians.

"Julius Caesar" ran for an extra two weeks, we had a rather successful run and Colin knew when to keep a good thing going. A week before the end of the show he made the grand announcement, showing us a book with "Twelfth Night" printed on the cover. Already the discussion began on who might go for what role.

"Grell, you know you want to try for Orsinio," George said to me with a little wink. "You're probably aching for more stage time, I can just smell your hunger."

He sniffed the air like a dog, we all laughed at this.

"I don't know, crew life is rather nice," I replied. "You can stammer and spit and not look like a fool."

This conjured a few more laughs, it was a nice way to deflect the conversation. The truth was I didn't know what I wanted part I wanted to go for. I had only seen one production of "Twelfth Night" and barely skimmed over a few pages sometime in ancient history. I read over the script after receiving it to see what characters I might want to play. Did I want to try for a sizable role. By tradition Orsinio would likely go to Hamish or Ephraim, Sir Toby and Malvolio were more likely for George or Sam, though I had a strong shot at either role. Or I could try for something exceedingly minor, a passing servant perhaps. No, I did want a few more scenes, though was I ready to be front and center again?

The real question was what were my current interests and priorities? I had truly enjoyed my backstage work, though I did indeed long for more time onstage. Even if I yearned for more stage time, I was still a bit out of practice. I decided to hand myself to the fates. I prepared Sebastian's speech from the scene in Olivia's garden. Sebastian was a character with few words, if Colin saw fit to cast me higher or lower so be it.

A week later we gathered for the readings. For the first time ever I was actually indifferent walking into an audition. A year ago I would barely be able to sleep awaiting my chance to try for the big role. This time I actually couldn't have cared less what role I got. I believe nerves played a significant part in this; I once approached this task with too much pride, now I confess I suffered from a lack of it. The regular encouragement I received from Hamish and the rest of the company did help me, though by now it was my will alone that would lead to the ultimate ends.

I paid more attention to some excellent recitations than obsessing over my delivery, though I did run through my lines in my head just to make sure. At last my name was called, I got into character, and proceeded to recite my lines. I presented Sebastian as a strong yet naïve youth. I found my delivery was much stronger than I assumed. By the end of the brief speech I was proud of what I did do, the applause I received from my fellows felt wonderful.

Colin did pull me aside later and asked me what I wanted to focus on for the next play. I simply told him I was open for any experience; I was rediscovering my love for the stage all the while finding a great interest in backstage work. After this conversation Colin walked off with a nod, saying he had a clearer vision of how to proceed.

The parts were announced a few days later. Hamish did indeed win the role of Duke Orsinio. I clapped politely with the rest, tossing him a wink. Shannon was Viola, one of the newer girls Miranda moved up a bit to play Olivia. Colin announced Sam would play Sir Toby Belch.

"In the role of Sir Andrew Aguecheek is Mr. Sutcliff…or should I say Mr. Warren," Colin announced.

A wide smile came over my face and I clapped heartily along with everyone else. Sir Andrew is a minor comedic character, but one with some important contributions and a good number of lines. It looked like Colin found a good part to balance my acting and my backstage work, I was most pleased with the decision. The fact Sir Andrew was a bit of an ass held a bit more appeal for me, I looked forward to acting ridiculous.

Hamish and I met later that night and toasted to each others' successes. Hamish had been in a previous production of "Twelfth Night" and explained a few different methods actors had used for Sir Andrew. Our conversation was periodically interrupted by deep kisses, eventually we just stopped talking altogether.

Hands were roaming everywhere, though I followed his lead in keeping a measure of restraint. Sitting on his lap I could feel he was a bit anxious, though both of us we just enjoying these moments with each other. We parted an hour or so later, I was flushed with bliss yet crestfallen when he took his leave at last.

A week later we were donning our togas for the last time and I was putting the final walls and tables in place for "Julius Caesar." I recalled how melancholy I was at the end of "Hamlet" last year, now at the end of "Julius Caesar" I was elated, optimistic perhaps. This show had been such a delightful experience, I only wanted more.

At the end I walked out with everyone for our final curtain call. A thunder of claps and cheers greeted us. I looked right into the audience and saw standing figures and smiling faces. I wasn't afraid to look into the crowd now like I had been before. We then linked hands and did the final bow, soon we were walking offstage.

I did join everyone for the final party, insisting I wouldn't get drunk. I asked everyone to keep an eye on me and pull me away if I looked to get a bit flushed. I actually had no desire to drink too much when I was there, here I was in a state of pure happiness with friends. All the insecurities and worries I had early on were nigh on gone. My fellows did make some jokes about counting every sip I took. I made some bad joke and got a crack of, "Sounds like you're getting a bit too happy, you need to watch that," followed by a tap on the wrist. I walked out of the pub feeling spirited and went to my own house on my own power. I suppose one does appreciate good company more when not wasted.

Hamish and I enjoyed a few prosperous nights at some higher end alehouses, then we would return to either of our homes and help each other study our lines. Eventually the books would go down for some lovely snogging. By now shirts were coming off and hands were wandering to intimate areas, though through clothing. Neither of us made any significant discussions or grand announcements about when we finally would know each other in a Biblical way. To me it seemed as if we were taking things at a natural pace. Even as I found myself finishing my own task after he left, I was willing to wait for him however long.

Rehearsals for "Twelfth Night" got underway. Colin and Elias went over some ideas for sets and props. As the principals started their rehearsals, I stayed nice and busy setting things up. It felt so good to start such a project fresh. I knew almost every one of these sets would have my touch in some way. After a few days it was my time to bring Sir Andrew to life. I had a good part of my lines learned and had a good feel for his character. Colin encouraged me to improvise in many places and I did. This was indeed the art of comedic timing and learning it was most enjoyable.

Sir Andrew was a fun character to play. A week into rehearsals I was bringing out my more carefree spirit. It was so nice to do this for a good cause other than pissing someone off. I was hearing choking laughter during my scenes, this just lead me to play it up a bit more. Georgia and I put together a nice costume; it was so colorful and ridiculous. I found this floppy blue hat that went perfectly with everything. It was also big enough to cover my hair; my hair was a bit longer and easier to put in a ponytail, I just stuffed it in the hat and it was perfect for cover.

School term would be in full swing by the time we took the stage and there would be no more threat of the Chamberlain brats. Thankfully I heard nothing from them at all, though I still erred on the side of caution. I wanted to wait a while before revealing more of myself.

A few days after this fitting, Hamish and I were in his apartment doing a little practicing. Near the end of the night he mentioned he had signed us up for a rather lucrative private party on Sunday night.

"Are you familiar with Lady Marigold?" he asked, I noticed a small hint of a smile when he said this.

I scoured my memory though came up with nothing.

"I can't say I've heard the name," I replied.

"Such a pity," he said with a slight shake of the head. "She's such a grand lady, she's a friend of mine and a regular patron. We will be playing for her guests, though don't bother bringing the wig. I doubt anyone of any noble persuasion would be caught dead mingling with this crowd."

This sounded promising. Hamish assured me I was in for a good night with fun company.

Sunday was one of our last dress rehearsals before the play opened on Thursday. I took off my costume and left in high spirits, the thought of going to such a promising gathering after this made me giddier, though I tried to temper the thought with realism. As we arranged, Hamish and I went to our respective homes to change into something smart and get our instruments.

We met in Grosvenor Square around half past 9, Hamish was all smiles though he was being rather coy about details. I followed him to this lovely townhouse off some side streets, he told me he would do all the talking. We entered the building then went down a series of steps that lead to a door on a lower level. He knocked on the door, then reached in his pocket and produced an envelope. A small slit on the door opened up, he slid the envelope in, and a moment later I heard a lock unlatch and the door opened.

Hamish walked in, I followed behind him. We walked into a dark space lit with only a few wall sconces. A uniformed doorman lead us down the hallway, a key in hand. He then put the key in one door in the hallway and opened it, nodding to us as we walked in. This was all so exciting, that was like all the illicit parties I had gone to in my old life. I heard plenty of voices and music, I knew we were in for some fun.

We walked into a brightly lit room. Sure enough I saw lots of dancing, lots of drinking, lots of kissing. I knew immediately this was one of those fun parties. Then I looked to the side to see two men sitting on a couch in each other's arms kissing rather openly. My mouth slightly dropped, then I saw two older lords walking past hand-in-hand. A lady in a grand dress spoke beside me, her voice unmistakably male.

I could only stand and gawk at every scene all around me. All around I saw men in grand dresses and tall wigs, men kissing, a few shirts open, some hands wandering to intimate areas. It was just like that private party Jacob got me into, though much bigger, much louder, and far less refined. I looked over at Hamish who I saw staring at me with a bemused look. A wide grin came over his face.

"A bit taken aback, are you," he said. "Can I guess you've never been to a molly house? Have you even heard of one?"

A molly house? I shook my head, what the hell was a molly house? Was this it? Why the hell had I never heard of these places? I had gone my whole life not knowing about something so glorious.

Hamish smiled wide, then grabbed me by the collar and kissed me hard. I drew back at first out of habit, then I took a few more looks around. There was nothing to fear here, everyone was of the same persuasion; there was no need for hiding. I took a breath and chuckled, then grabbed the back of Hamish's neck and kissed him. My whole body tingled, this was the greatest feeling I had ever known.

"Ah young love," a male voice with a high inflection said beside us.

We broke the kiss and looked over. Standing before us was a large figure in a bright auburn dress. He…no she I suppose wore a tall wig powdered yellow and so much make-up.

"My lady," Hamish said, taking her large hand and kissing her diamond ring.

"Oh Mr. Quinton, how splendid of you to come," she said. "And this, this must be your new flame."

"Gregory, ma'am," I said with a bow.

She offered me her hand and I kissed her ring in turn.

"Gregory, this is the mistress of the house, my ladyship this is my special man," Hamish said.

He took hold of my hand and kissed it, I tossed his ponytail over his shoulder.

"Oh he's so very handsome, such lovely hair," Lady Marigold cooed, running fingers through my hair. Then she took hold of my shoulder, taking Hamish's with her other hand. "Now you two, work first, snog later."

She pushed us away and went to another group of lovely "ladies" in colorful dresses.

Hamish and I got our instruments out and tuned up, then we stood on this small stage and started to play. I looked out and saw all these lovely couples dancing together. Hands were linked and feet flew off the floor during lively numbers, arms went around each other and heads rested on shoulders during slower pieces. Partners sometimes traded off, some partners would dance with the same person the whole time. I wanted to weep in joy, I was so happy to be in this place.

We played for nearly a couple hours, then we took our final bows to happy applause. We walked offstage, put our instruments in their cases, and took to the floor to mingle with the crowd. We got so many compliments on our playing, I hadn't played for a crowd that seemed so appreciative. Eventually a lady in a grand dress took the stage and sang opera selections in a beautiful tenor.

Hamish and I took hands and danced together. I pressed my body against his, he rested his head on mine, we were a regular couple here. Sometimes we got into conversations around the room. I learned quickly the ladies were just that here, bowing and hand kissing like a good gentleman was only polite. I wore a nice suit, but I felt so naked. I eyed all these gorgeous dresses.

My lady was screaming in jealousy, she wanted to come out so badly. I promised her that would happen. Now I truly regretted leaving behind my red gown. I would have another one, I promised myself that. Someday soon I would be walking around this place in such grand splendor, gentlemen would treat me with such chivalry.

Hamish and I grew closer as the evening progressed. We kissed, we ran hands though each other's hair, I nibbled on his neck at one point. Hamish lightly pulled back, then looked down at me.

"You know her ladyship has some fine guest rooms," he said in my ear, the tip of his tongue flicking my earlobe.

We stared at each other in a moment of silent knowing. I smiled wide.

"Lead on," I said.

Hamish grabbed my hand and lead me across the room. He found the mistress of the house and whispered in her ear, handing her a few coins. She looked at him and grinned, then slipped him a key and pointed down the hallway. Hamish took my hand again, then kissed my fingers before leading me down the brightly-papered hall. We reached a room near the back wall, Hamish took out the key and put it in the door, opening it and yanking me in.

The room was a little small, but very nicely furnished. Hamish lit a small lamp on the table, then looked at me. I gazed back, then put my hands on his shoulder.

"It's been three months, hasn't it?" I said.

He nodded.

"I will follow your lead," he said, kissing me. "Whatever you desire, whatever you are ready for."

I kissed his cheek, then kissed down his jaw; my fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt.

It was a slow process, though a beautiful one. Buttons were undone methodically, clothing removed with caresses instead of yanks. Trousers were saved for last; we both agreed to have the final reveal at the same time. Simultaneously we undid each other's trouser buttons, pulled down trousers, then grabbed hold of the band of each other's underclothes. We actually did a count of three then gently pulled them down, revealing ourselves to each other at last.

We took a moment to look at each other's secrets. He was a little small, though he was still Hamish. My hand gently wrapped around his flesh, his hand softly caressed mine. Soon we were both completely nude in front of each other. Bodies rubbed together, hands were going everywhere, lips and tongues met flesh. A few words where shared on how we liked to be touched and what we did not enjoy.

We ended up on the soft bed; exploring each other, pleasuring each other. At last we were ready for the ultimate moment. The position was my choice, I laid back on the mattress and motioned for him to take part. There was plenty of oil available in the room, he carefully oiled himself, then methodically prepared me.

"You don't have to be so careful, I'm not exactly a pure maiden," I said.

"I'd rather show my lady some courtesy," he replied, kissing me and continuing his work.

He positioned himself over me, his waiting cock in his hand. He looked down at me, I caressed his chest.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I nodded with a smile. He nodded back, then gently slid in; I let out a happy sigh. He took a soft grip on my shoulders and began a slow thrust. I raised my hindquarters up and took hold of his hips, tightening my muscles slightly and feeling so much more. His pace was wonderful, he started with great care then sped up a bit. He just knew the perfect places to touch me and make me cry out. We caressed each other's bodies, I savored the feeling of his soft, sweat-slicked flesh against mine.

I lay my head against the pillow and closed my eyes, savoring this perfect moment. I then opened my lids, seeing this beautiful man making love to me. We gazed at each other, I saw a wide smile over his face. His thrust grew stronger, I felt my muscles tightening. Hard moans escaped both of us, hands caressed slick flesh. He let out a hard grunt and I felt him release, the way he ran his hands down my chest prompted my own final moment.

We kept our position for a moment, our bodies trembling.

"Thank you for this," I whispered.

Hamish caressed my cheek and smiled. He withdrew, then collapsed beside me. My arms wrapped around him and we gently kissed. In that moment the world was utterly perfect.


	51. Part 51

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 51**

I awoke at the first streams of sunlight coming through the thick curtain. The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes was a head of thick black hair right under my vision. Another bare form was wrapped around mine, I felt a gentle heartbeat and peaceful breathing. I nuzzled the top of Hamish's head, Hamish stirred a little; the first shifts of waking. His head leaned up and he looked down at me with a smile.

"My what a glorious sight to wake to," I said softly.

"My thoughts exactly," he replied, leaning down and kissing me.

Naturally one kiss could not be left at that. Soon one became another, I ran my hand through his hair, he stroked my cheek, hands were running down each other's naked forms and finding areas suddenly awake with interest. Hamish then slid off me and reached on the side table, taking the bottle of oil in his hand and handing it to me.

"Care to do the honors?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

I took the oil with the tips of my fingers, a wicked smile across my face. I kissed him a little more, then rubbed his back and came to my knees. He raised himself up on his knees and I positioned myself behind him. I kissed up his back, then found his lips; pouring some oil on my hands and stroking myself. Two fingers wandered to his entrance, it was like discovering a new treasure. I slowly stretched him out, savoring the way his body shivered and the light sighs against my face.

At last I took hold of myself then slowly slid in. He let out a happy gasp, I started a gradual thrust; my torso rested on top of his and my hands found a position on his shoulders. He leaned his head back and kissed me hard, kisses that were interrupted with sighs and light moans. Occasionally he would give me small instructions on how to position or what wasn't working. I heeded all his words, soon there were no words from him but gasps. I ran my hands down his body, taking hold of his cock and gently rubbing as I lightly nibbled his neck. He was whispering my name, sweat pouring from his body. He shifted in all the right places to close a little more around me and make me gasp out and buck harder.

Our bodies worked in a lovely rhythm in this perfect moment of bliss. He released first with a hard moan, this prompted my muscles to tighten up. The feeling of his fingers caressing mine did the final job, I thrust in and released with a grunt. Both of us were panting hard, I withdrew and collapsed next to him. He looked at me with a wide smile, his hair soaked in sweat. I looked up at him for a moment with a smirk, he gently grabbed my hair and pulled me in for a kiss.

"That was a lovely way to start the day," he snickered.

"I would say that was rather energizing," I replied.

Soon we rose from the bed, helped each other clean off, and eventually dressed and collected our effects. We exited the room to find a few other revelers from the previous night were still loitering around. Some of the lovely ladies were still in their dresses, others wore gentleman's nightclothes with traces of lipstick and rouge across their faces. I did not see our hostess anywhere; I could imagine she was enjoying a restful sleep, perhaps with a friend or two.

The doorman was allowing people to leave a few at a time in a staggered order, one mass exodus might only rouse suspicion. Hamish and I had coffee and waited our turn. At last the doorman gave us leave, we passed through the door with a nod back; Hamish instructed him to share his thanks with Lady Marigold for her gracious hospitality. We walked out of the building into the bright morning light and walked off like two regular chaps.

It was so bizarre having to walk a few feet away from Hamish. We spent the whole evening so close, though that was in a nice safe space. Now we were back in the cruel world, though at least I knew now there were some pockets of heaven in this city. We parted ways around the West End, Hamish wanted to maintain this masquerade in case anyone was following. I surely couldn't kiss him, but a handshake would have to do.

"Hamish, I greatly enjoyed myself last night," I said. "Thank you for that whole experience."

"No, I should thank you," he said. "Thank you for joining me.

The look on his face told me more than any kisses or embraces ever could. His thumb ran over the top of my fingers as he let go of my hand. We walked in separate directions, I tried not to look back in the spirit of this charade. I tried not to skip down the street, my heart danced in my chest instead. I walked back to my guest room and did a few dance steps across the floor, lamenting how empty my arms were at that moment.

We weren't apart for long. Tuesday night we were at a dodgy alehouse playing for a better part of the night. After a night of smelly women pawing at out lapels with sticky hands, we finally left with our stingy pay and got the hell out of there. I walked Hamish home and we lingered for a little while longer for a glass of wine and some light kisses. I left him with a kiss and returned to my quarters giddy.

Wednesday was the big rehearsal day. "Twelfth Night" opened tomorrow night, the stage crew put our last touches on the sets and props. Georgia and I took some time to put the costumes in place and discussed some make-up techniques. Later in the evening the players arrived and all of us took one final dress rehearsal. The halls were filled with laughter that night, I just hoped this momentum continued in front of the audience.

I didn't sleep well the night before the show, not from nerves but excitement. I felt so ready to get out on that stage. This was my biggest role since returning to London. There were some small moments of panic at the thought of it, though they melted away with a warm glow of anticipation. This was the first steps towards a grander comeback. Great things came from small steps and I was prepared to do what was needed to bring myself back to form.

I entered the theater proudly Thursday afternoon. The second I stepped in the door I was rushing around with everyone else getting everything ready. Time flew by so fast the actors were walking in the building before I knew it. I looked at the clock and saw it was already 6; just an hour and a half from the big moment. I went to the dressing room with everyone else, greeting Hamish with a pat on the back and getting a squeeze on the shoulder in return.

Soon I was in my costume and Georgia put the last touches on my make-up. Sam and I discussed some new ideas for our fight scene and rehearsed a few moves at the last minute with a few chime-ins from Colin. At last the big moment was at hand. Colin gathered us for our prayer, we linked hands for this then let go with cheers as we got ready to go out. I got into position to move a few sets in place. Thankfully my costume was a bit more conducive to getting some extra tasks done. I was just glad I didn't have to worry about the blasted powder in my hair.

I went backstage and gave Hamish a push on the shoulder as he went out for the first scene. He crossed himself with a grin and went out. The curtains parted and the lights went up. He had his lines with a new boy playing Curio. God did he look handsome in that black robe he was wearing. He delivered his lines with such great art, by the time the curtain closed on the first scene I was even more excited.

I watched the proceedings between scene changes, my tiny amount of nerves becoming more anticipation. At last Sam and a newer girl named Hope went out as Toby and Maria. I knew my part was soon. At last I heard my cue from Sam.

"Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface," Sam said.

I felt a slap on my shoulder from Hamish.

"Slay all of them, mate," he said.

I smiled then hopped up onstage immediately in character.

"Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!" I said, greeting Toby with a handshake.

Everything in that scene just fell right into place. Our timing was perfect, our lines were perfect. My demeanor loosened up a little; the more I felt out the character and the more relaxed I became. I owned every line and movement. Sam was so much fun to play off of, he was doing such a splendid job. The scene ended and we left the stage as the curtain was closing. Sam and I were paying each other high compliments as we left the stage, tossing out a couple more suggestions as the next scene began.

It was a lovely rhythm for the rest of the night. I moved sets and set out props, though I was itching for every moment before I went out again. Every time I went back out felt like a warm homecoming. I now kicked myself for ever thinking I should just do a small part. As the play progressed, Sam and I made for such idiotic rivals. We played up our silliness yet still kept airs of sophistication in the spirit of the play.

In between my scenes and moving set pieces, I took time to admire Hamish's performance. His work was so skillful, he just charmed in every scene he was in. If nothing else went well tonight I at least had the pleasure of watching my love in such wonderful form. In the end Toby and Andrew had their duel. Out of all the dramatic, emotional scenes I have done with foil in hand, it was so nice to have such a scene done in complete jest. The audience's laughter was music to my ears and it only spurred me more.

Our last scene with me flailing in panic and Sam stumbling around drunk was the best way we could have ended this play. We shuffled offstage for the last time, all of us laughing and in such high spirits. The play wound down, all the actors had their last scenes and dramatic reveals. The curtain closed on the first night to thunderous applause. Everyone was laughing and giddy as we gathered for curtain call.

The curtains parted, everyone went out in their orders. Sam and I went out together, daintily taking hands and bowing. Thanks to many hairpins and a bit of practice, my hat stayed on my head. We clapped as the others went out. Finally Hamish and Shannon went out hand in hand; he bowed, she curtseyed, they both looked so precious. We all linked hands and did the final bow, then the curtain closed on the opening of "Twelfth Night."

There was so much happiness in the air backstage. Everyone was laughing, chatting, a few cheers went up. Colin gave us a few last words of wisdom, some of the happiest of which was numbers for that night. We were a big hit, all of us cheered at this. Once again I stayed behind during the meet and greet, this time I didn't mind so much. I got so much organized and cleaned up by the time everyone came back.

All of us took off our costumes then made a march for the pub for the opening celebration. I still asked my fellows to keep an eye on me, though Hamish and I already made nicer plans. We stayed at the party for a couple hours, happily chatting. Then both of us took our leave; we had a job the next afternoon and wanted to get some practice time.

We were indeed scheduled for luncheon held by some well-bred older ladies and we did indeed practice for a while at Hamish's studio. Practice did not go too long though, eventually our hands were more over each other than our instruments. Eventually sweet noises of a different kind rose from both of us and our hands played with things other than strings and pegs.

I ended up spending the night wrapped in his arms, then we woke and cleaned off. I changed into the nice outfit I had ready at his apartment then we left together for Mrs. Howland and her many guests. We parted with a handsome amount of coins and waves so I could go to the theater for my job, though we would reunite in just a few hours.

I returned to Mersey Hall with a spring in my step and ready to begin the second night. I brushed off a sense of unease coming over me, it was just nerves. Colin asked in passing how our job went this afternoon and I told some basic details. He nodded and walked off to the next task he had, I swore I saw a hint of an amused smirk on his face for a moment as he was turning around. I didn't try to look at him too carefully as he walked away, somehow it struck me funny. I dismissed the thought, I was far too excited.

Then the realization crept in: I had not taken a drop that morning.

The fact I was a bit snippy and on edge for a good part of the afternoon confirmed my suspicion. Shit, I had forgotten all about that damnable bottle. By the time the players came I was sweating like a farmer in summer and blowing my nose regularly. Someone asked if I was coming down with something, I said it could be possible and left it at that. I did some deep breathing and swore I would retain all composure for the play.

Everyone arrived, I greeted Hamish again; as pleased as could be at the idea of losing it in front of him. I stayed on my best behavior despite how tense I was. I still managed to keep up conversations and balled up my fingers instead of snapping at someone. Georgia was wiping my face with a cloth whilst doing my makeup, eventually she asked if I was all right.

"Must be from all the running around all afternoon," I replied.

"I can imagine, you young cads got more energy than I do," she said.

We chuckled, I was happy she was leaving it at that.

Georgia moved away, the next thing I felt was the back of a hand pressing on my face; the smell of Hamish's cologne now obvious. I shivered a little, mentally begging him to just move along.

"You're ice bloody cold, you sure you're all right?" he said.

I gave a hard sigh.

"I'm fine," I replied, batting his hand away.

I felt my face flush with embarrassment. I looked up at him in a silent apology, his brow was furrowed and his mouth was slightly open.

"I'm sorry," I said at last.

"Just take it easy and I'll get you home soon," he said.

I nodded, noticing a few other eyes were falling on us. I averted my gaze lest I get up and start yelling.

Hamish patted me on the shoulder, then finally walked off. It was best if he just left the subject be, though I just knew he would be on this again. Considering what he survived, he could have been scared witless the same was happening to me. If only it were that simple; how I wished I had the flu, hell the Black Plague would make me feel less like a knob than I did now.

After a few deep breaths I was keeping more of my wits about me. Colin gave us some last words of advice before going on. I did everything I could to stay still and not shift around. Soon we were taking our places. Colin walked up to me and asked if I was truly okay to go on.

"I thought I heard some concern you were ill," he said. "Are you indeed all right?"

Oh damn this was just spreading wasn't it.

"Fine and dandy, you probably just overheard Hamish getting worried," I chuckled back. "Can't say I blame him."

"Well if you feel at all you should be in bed and not the stage let me know," Colin replied. "Don't hesitate to say something."

I nodded and thanked him, keeping an eye roll to myself when he walked off.

I shook off everything; I would get through this fucking play, there was no question whatsoever. I didn't need that shit in my body, I don't care how much it revolted. This wasn't going to fuck up my evening. I pulled all my will forward and did my work even harder. I concentrated on the task at hand and tried to take only a few voices or outside distractions at a time.

As I readied to take the stage I focused solely on my lines and blocking. At last I heard my cue and I hopped up onstage. I remembered everything I was supposed to, though I did find I was bouncing around a little more and talking a bit louder. By my estimation it was completely in character.

By intermission I was cold and shaking, my skin crawled, my stomach felt raw. I was pacing the hallway, standing still for one second would only make me feel even more ill. A few other people were asking if I was well. I'm fine, just nerves, no need to fret. After a short while I was having a harder time getting people to shoo off, least of all Hamish. Hamish did slip me a sip of gin, that warmed me a little and took a tiny bit of the edge off. I was so glad when intermission was over, I just wanted to get moving again.

My muscles were aching yet I still carried what I needed to. Sam gave me a few pats on the back in encouragement as we returned to the stage. I was actually pleased with my performance that night, though so glad when I took my final exit. When I returned backstage, Colin put his hands on my shoulders.

"Bloody hell you're a tough git," he said. "You did good tonight, the circumstances be damned."

I said nothing in response. He said I should probably go home then, though I told him I just wanted to get through curtain call. He tried to persuade me, though I resisted. At last he just backed off. I paced around even more to an almost frantic pace, every line delivered on that stage was one more second keeping me from getting home and feeding the demon. The sound of Hamish's sweet voice was the only thing that pulled me up a bit.

Finally everyone left the stage. Hamish walked up to me and felt my face again, I just let him do it.

"I'll take you home right after this," he said.

I nodded then got into line. I was tapping my foot as everyone went on before us. Then Sam and I went out and did our bows. The bright lights seared through my eyes and the roaring crowd made my head ache, though the whole moment was one of happiness. I so wished I could just enjoy this. The final players came out, we linked hands and bowed, then the curtain closed and I was practically running offstage.

I ripped off my costume and put my regular clothes on, Hamish did the same.

"I'm taking you home right now," he said.

I thanked him, then watched as he got on the rest of his clothes. He put a hand on my back and bid me to walk forward. Colin approached me and put his hands on my shoulders.

"You rest up, you're in good hands now," he said.

"Thank you," I said, keeping my voice even. No way was I betraying any weakness.

I was so drained, so sick, so bloody humiliated. I walked out the backdoor and into a small alley, Hamish close behind me. The cool night air just froze my body even more. I braced my arms around my midsection and tried to keep back a gag.

"You need to stop and spill your guts, go right ahead," he said.

I just kept walking, all I could imagine was getting that bloody bottle out. I hated that thing, I hated all of this. I wanted to take myself from a year ago and slap myself bloody. Jacob's bloody doctor was right about everything; I should have been laid up for a few months. No I just went forward, a drop here and there was all I bloody needed. Tears were welling in my eyes at the very thought of it.

"I'm so sorry, Hamish," I said, my voice cracking.

"Nothing to be sorry about, love," he said. "We'll get you home and I'll take care of you."

My happiness at these warm words lasted for one second then the obvious realization took over.

"That's not necessary, dear, all I need is a little rest," I said.

And a drop or two and I'll be right as rain.

"No, you need someone to…"

"I bloody said I'll be all right," I snapped back.

My stomach twisted a little more, I braced myself again though waves of embarrassment were a little hard to keep at bay.

"Just…just don't bother yourself with me," I said, my voice half in a sob. "I just need to get home and I'll be fine."

I kept walking, my pace near running yet I still heard his footsteps behind me. The sight of my guest house in the distance was one of the most glorious sights I had ever beheld. I ran to the door and opened it, Hamish was still behind me. Shit, he was going to follow me all the way up.

"Hamish I am going in my room," I said as calmly as possible. "I appreciate your sentiment…"

"But you're too bloody proud to take any help," he sneered.

I walked up the stairs and reached my hallway, of course he was still behind me. He grabbed my shoulders and yanked me around to face him.

"Grell, you're ill," he said, his face leaning in mine. "You need someone to watch out for you. Friend, I would have died if my sister didn't take care of me. If she hadn't put behind how much of a selfish twat I had been to the whole family and took care of my retching arse for a month. You don't need to be the lone wolf."

My eyes welled with tears the more he spoke to me. I took a few deep breaths and paused. God help me I didn't want him to find out…though if he was going to be so fucking insistent may as well reward him. I looked in his beautiful eyes. I knew I was going to lose him, I knew he would walk away when he learned the truth. Let's see if all this talk of devotion and respect was all for nothing; I then knew I had my perfect test right here.

I nodded.

"All right," I said. "I'm sorry…about all of this. That's all I can say."

I turned around and took out my key. My hand was shaking so hard I had a hard time getting it in the hole, though finally I was successful. I turned the key and the knob, my hands were so sweaty I could barely turn it. Hamish's hand wrapped around mine hand game me enough pressure to turn it. The moment the knob turned I pushed against the door with my shoulder. It flew open and I scrambled into my room.

I ran to the bureau on the other side of the room, nearly tripping over the rug though finding my footing. I yanked the top drawer open, seeing a few stockings covered the shape of that fucking bottle. I tossed the stockings out with a grunt and grabbed the bottle, twisting the top off. Usually I would put half a drop in some wine, now I just wanted this poison. I removed the stopper, then looked up to see Hamish staring at me with a perplexed look.

I raised the stopper to my mouth, two drops slid on my tongue. I started gagging with the horrible taste, mentally cursing that I took that much. I had been doing barely a speck, now I knew I was out for the night.

"Dammit, Grell, did you need to do that?" Hamish sighed, rushing over to me.

I put the bottle on a side table as the drug started taking effect.

"Yes, yes in fact I did," I said.

My legs wobbled, I braced myself on the table. Hamish took hold of me, leading me to sit on the bed. I didn't sit, I just flopped back on the mattress. I let out a few cackles, for the first time I was actually enjoying myself after taking that rubbish.

"That will just make you sicker," he sneered.

"Au contraire, my sweet, it's making me feel better already," I said with a giggle. "It's the monster that relieves the monster. It's taking care of everything because that's what this whole fucking thing is about." My voice rose with every word.

Hamish stared down at me. His face looked so funny, I just laughed again.

"Tell me when you start getting a clue, love," I cackled. "Your lady love is a damaged bag."

My head swam a bit more, everything in my vision became more like waves.

"I'm cured, there is no more illness, it magically went away."

I don't know if I thought those words or actually said them. I didn't stick around long enough to give it any thought.

Light was streaming all around me by the time I bobbed to the surface. I slowly opened my eyes to the searing glow of day. I tried to bring my arm up to shield my eyes, though it was a bit of a slow process. I was drained, dried up, aching. Eventually I felt the pillow under my head and registered a blanket over my body. Then I felt a form next to me, sweet breaths flowing against my face. I smiled, then looked over. Lying right next to me was a good man, a man who stayed with me through the whole night.

I found enough energy to rub my hand down his cheek, moving aside some of his hair. Hamish shifted, but he was still fast asleep like a little baby boy. I let out a sigh, willing myself to sit up a bit more. My head swam and my throat hurt, though this was all my own stupidity. I looked down at Hamish again.

He stayed, I couldn't bloody believe he stayed. He was doing so out of his own kindness, perhaps he thought leaving me in such a state would be rude. He might be here now, but just how long would he stay the moment he woke up, or the moment he fully realized how much of a fool I was?

I put my head in my hands, my nails lightly digging into my scalp to get me to wake up a bit more. I then felt a hand run over my arm and down my chest, coming to a rest on my stomach. I smiled and took the hand in mine, kissing it, and looking down at its owner. Hamish slowly shifted to his side, those brown eyes fully opened and looking up at me.

"Good morning," I said.

"To you as well," he said.

He gradually lifted himself up with his hands and came to a sit beside me, his arm coming around my shoulder and pulling me into him.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

I nodded against his shoulder.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" I sighed. "You wasted your whole night on my pathetic arse."

"It was a night gladly spent," he replied, the side of his face gently rubbing against the top of my head. "I've seen guys choke on their own juices in such a state, I wasn't going to let it happen to you."

"And why not? Can't think of a fitting enough end for my stupidity."

"Oh shush, you're not an idiot. You're sick, that's all. It was the accident, wasn't it? The stuff they gave you?"

I let out a painful sigh and nodded again. His embrace tightened.

"It kept me hobbling down Chamberlain's grand hallways and stairs everyday," I said. "Bloody doctor said I should have been laid up for another month. Couldn't have that, had to be on schedule, no time for slacking."

"Typical bollocks," he sighed. "They just feed you more of that poison, expect you to be productive. They tried to do that with me, but I refused. I've been to enough funerals, from the bottle and the pipe."

"Which is why you should run as fast as you can."

"Don't be silly, I'm not going anywhere. Besides I've seen guys much worse than you, believe me."

"Oh yes, that would be how I this spring. Sitting in a fucking chair every night drifting off."

"And I have yet to see you do that, progress perhaps?"

I nodded.

"It took a while, but yes. Now I just take a tiny bit a few times a day, enough to keep the demon pleased. Then I kind of forgot to feed the dog yesterday, that cur wasn't happy."

Hamish kissed the top of my head.

"You can beat this, I know you can," he whispered in my ear. "Sounds as if you've fought it back enough, just keep working on it."

I took a hard breath and buried my head in his chest, he rubbed my back and stroked my hair.

"And no I'm not going to leave you for something as stupid as that," he said.

I leaned back and looked him right in the eyes.

"You're a fool," I chuckled.

"Gladly so," he replied with a smile.

I gazed at him, gently batting his face with my hand. He smiled wider and pulled me in for a kiss.

A little later he put the kettle on and toasted some crumpets. We sat around the table, sipped tea, and had breakfast in a glorious silence. Feet rubbed against each other and fingers gently slid against forearms. I wanted to just stay in all day in his company, though both of us still had places we needed to be. I had to be at the theater at 2. His friend was paying him to fix an old lute and they were meeting around that same time to discuss the transaction. We did have time for a quick roll in the sheets, though right afterwards we had to get ready for our next responsibility.

Right before he left I did take a tiny speck of elixir in my tea. I hated doing this in front of him and I truly loathed doing this right before going to the theater. I did bear more loathing for the possibility of repeating last night.

"I'm sure you can just tell Colin you're still slightly ill," Hamish said.

I swirled my tea around, trying to get myself to actually take a sip.

"It would follow the story from last night," I replied with a nod.

I turned away from him and sipped from the cup. The taste was somewhat hidden but still disgusting. I couldn't bear looking at him when I did this, though he did walk around into my field of vision.

"You're doing your best to beat it, and for that I'm most proud of you," he said softly.

I managed a smile, then choked down the rest of the cup. Hamish took it out of my hands then kissed me.

"I really am proud of you, please remember that," he reiterated. "I will do all I can to help you beat this."

I nodded, then kissed him again.

He left my room with a wave and walked out to his own business. Soon I was leaving the building mysellf. By now I felt slightly woozy, though it was nothing I couldn't manage. The fresh air and the walked helped somewhat, though I was still slightly out of sorts when I got to Mersey Hall.

As expected, Colin asked how I was feeling.

"Much better than last night, though not at full," I said. "I think I had some bad beef yesterday and it's still working its way out."

Colin made sure I was on a lighter duty, for which I gave him my utmost thanks. I did some paint touch ups and spent more time with Georgia patching some costumes. In a few hours the laudanum was tapering off and I was feeling much more present. I slowly realized just how much I had pushed it out of my being in the past few months. The grogginess was wearing off and I felt content. For a while just taking that little would make my body rebel, now I was felling better. Perhaps the demon was making its way out.

I was a bit more energized with the cast arrived. A few of my fellows were asking how I was feeling, I happily replied I was much better. I felt more than a stab of remorse at their words, I knew I had one more large reason to finally be rid of this. Hamish inquired as well, though his words were a bit more of a relief. He knew the situation and he reacted with legitimate concern. I just knew I was so lucky to have him.

I made up for lost time onstage that night. I dove headfirst into character, enjoying every moment up there. By curtain call I was practically running onstage. Afterward I had a couple pints with the rest of the company. Hamish took his leave early, he promised his sister he would join the family for church in the morning. It was all well and good, I preferred turning in early anyway.

I stopped at two pints and said my farewells. There was a tiny speck of a drop involved before I went to bed, enough to stave me off until morning. I woke feeling much lighter than I did the previous day. The only drawback was not having my warm companion right next to me. I wouldn't see him until later that night, though we would be making up for that later.

By Sunday afternoon I was back at my usual tasks leading up to the show. We had so much prepared already we were loitering around and chatting more than doing much of anything. Colin approached me at this time and asked me to help him with something. We went into his office, already I felt slightly nervous about where this could lead. He then asked me for a few recommendations for ink suppliers, asking if I knew anyone specific from my office days. I gladly gave him a few names, somewhat relieved I was being pulled in the office for this purpose.

After his conversation, his demeanor became a little more serious. When he said, "I did have something else I wanted to mention to you," I wasn't exactly surprised.

"I've noticed you and Hamish have become rather close over the past few months," he said.

Brilliant. I could feel my guard rising considerably.

"I don't know if he's mentioned it, but Hamish and I go a little ways back ourselves," he continued. "He was the lead in a few orchestra pits on some shows I worked on, he was much younger at the time but oh so talented. He is very personable, we became friends very easily; that happens quite a bit with him. I've watched him rise up, he even got spots in a few choruses on Drury Lane. He was up for a few minor roles when his illness struck him. A large group of us threw a party for him on his twenty-sixth birthday earlier this year, all of us celebrating the fact he had another birthday."

"That must have been a wonderful occasion," I replied, trying to relax slightly. "I know he was singing your praises when we first spoke."

"It was a favor I was more than happy to do for him. He's getting back on his feet very slowly, but he's a tough lad. He could use as many friends as he could get, and I known full well the same applies to you."

I nodded enthusiastically, breathing another sigh of relief.

"I think it's wonderful how close you've grown," Colin continued. "Not only that but you're playing music professionally."

"That's true, it's been a very nice partnership," I replied.

"I am very glad to hear that. I'm glad to hear you're getting on your own feet as well, especially with something you are passionate about."

His pause and the way he sighed made my guard rise a little more.

"I did just want to utter a word of caution," he added. "He's a good friend and I do not mean to speak ill of him, though you too are dear to me and I would rather you were aware of this."

My face grew hot and sweat formed on my back. How much did I want to hear what he was going to say next?

"As happy as I am that you two are partners and friends, I should advise you that you are not the first who has taken such a role," Colin said softly, leaning a bit closer to me. "In fact I have lost count how many young protégés he has taken under his wing; how many aspiring musicians your age he has shown the ins and outs of professional work. How many close friends he has spent so much time with, only to appear with someone different and never speak on his partner again."

I stared at Colin in a numb stupor.

"Like I said, he's a good lad, but he's fickle and his passions burn so bright they fizzle out easily," Colin said. "He will gloat on and on about his new find time and time again, then their name is lost to history. Some of these lads he's taken on go on to better things, others approach me and ask why the hell they haven't heard from him. Hamish will tell me so and so didn't perform as well, whoever else became too greedy, he always has a reason."

My stomach was slowly twisting. I had no idea if Colin knew the full scope of the matter, though the implications for the true picture were disgusting. So that's why Lady Marigold mentioned "your new flame." So that's why Hamish's friends were looking on me with side glances. Everyone just saw me as his latest, didn't they.

"I'm not advising you to run, but I am strongly advising you to keep an open eye," he sighed. "Do what you can to make your own success, don't rely on someone else to make it for you. However I will add this is the longest time he has spent with any one partner. Then again all these other lads came before his illness. You are the first since he's returned to the stage."

This broke a few clouds. I could keep the fantasy I was more special to him than the others, though I knew better than that. Maybe this meant I would civilly address it and hear him out as opposed to clawing his face in rage.

"I would hope this prompted him to temper his behavior a little and actually work with someone instead of fawning over them and dropping them when he loses interest," Colin added. "Though you are a bright lad, you certainly have your wits about you. I just wanted to you be fully aware."

Perhaps that was why Hamish didn't want to hasten our journey from first kiss to first bed. I was somewhat relieved, though I knew this wasn't a certainty.

I sighed hard, then shook Colin's hand.

"I can't thank you enough for your concerns, Colin," I said. "I certainly would rather be aware and safe."

"I want to help you however I can, Grell, though the bigger work is up to you."

I released his hand and we returned to the theater. I thought on what he told me, deciding I would address this later tonight.

Later in the evening the players arrived, I greeted Hamish as warmly as I usually did. I was still happy to see him, though I had every intention to say something later.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow, less than a week and already another update! I've been on a roll with this story lately. Just a warning though, don't expect this to be a normal update schedule. I've been privileged to have my muses and interest so active, I can't guarantee this pace will keep up the way it has.


	52. Part 52

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 52**

We had a lovely, romantic evening planned at Hamish's apartment. After all that had gone on this week, we needed a nice, relaxing evening in each other's company. This thought kept me sated all night. I could chat with him and go about our usual business at the theater, later I would have ample opportunity to ask some serious questions.

Right after everything was settled for the night we walked back to Hamish's flat. By now we weren't bothering to travel separately to go to the same place. Everyone knew we were close chums by now, I personally didn't care if anyone suspected anything. It had been three bloody months, everyone had ample time to make their own conclusions: Colin surely had.

Hamish lit plenty of candles and had a nice bottle of claret out. He was roasting a small bird over the fire and throwing some potatoes in a stewpot, I sat back on the couch with a glass of wine in my hand.

"Colin and I talked about you today," I said, sipping my wine.

"Oh did you," Hamish responded with a snicker. "Gossiping were you?"

"Dreadfully so. He was just telling me how long he's known you, little bits from your theater career, all about the slew of musical partners you've had over the past few years."

I didn't know if I should have been amused or aggravated by his guffaw. Regardless I did chuckle along, if not sarcastically.

"He especially wanted to mention that to me, since I seem to be one in a line," I continued. "What's this I hear that you will take on a fair youth as your muse then trash him the moment you're bored? Colin was only speaking in musical business terms; he didn't mention if buggery were involved, but then I'm sure he's he has his own interpretations."

"He told you this to warn you, didn't he?" Hamish said, walking towards me. "The last thing he wants is for his new friend to be exploited by his old friend, am I right?"

"That was the heart of it."

Hamish walked back to the fire to check on the bird, then he walked back up to me, taking a seat in a chair across from me. I took another sip, keeping my expression even though my glare was right on him.

"Colin is absolutely correct," he said.

I was a little surprised by the plain look on his face and the matter-of-fact way he delivered this admission.

"Like I told you already, I've done my fair share of bed hopping," Hamish continued. "And yes indeed, I liked to find young protégés. I love men of talent, especially young talent. I love having them around me, and yes I have loved having them in my bed. And yes there were many and yes I wasn't entirely tactful about getting rid of the old for the new. Yes I am most aware I left a string of broken hearts in my wake and likely more than a few broken careers. I did this because I was an idiot."

He leaned forward and looked me right in the eye.

"I'm an artist of overflowing passions, Grell, and my moral compass was in sore need of recalibrating," he said. "I made some very bad mistakes; mistakes I don't intend to repeat."

I slowly sipped, swirling the contents of my glass and looking down at the couch.

"You've seen the error of your ways," I said. "Your brush with death has given you a new perspective on life. You want to get right with God and humanity, hence why I'm not just another rag you'll toss off with and toss away. You realize how rubbish that all sounds."

"Most certainly," he replied. "Would I trust me, certainly not. I would just hope that someone would at least make the attempt. If I fall short of any expectation, just one word and I will seek my redemption in other places."

I looked up, his gaze settled right on me. I had to admit I was most impressed by how forthright he was being. It sounded as if he was confessing everything. Come to think of it bloody moral high ground did I have? It's not like I've never done my share of bed hopping. Then again did he ever leave any of his past lovers in a pool of blood? Perhaps he was the better man. I put my glass on the table and leaned forward.

"Hamish, my own moral compass has been hardly on point either," I sighed. "I have little room for righteous judgment. I am, however, a little tired of being some man's fun time or another man's harem girl."

Though what the hell did I want to be? My own speech was just bringing up more questions. Just how did I see the two of us anyway?

"And I'm bored with having any of that as well," he responded. "I have been on that end of it too, I know exactly what you're talking about."

He looked down and sighed hard.

"I'm twenty-six years old, do you know how many weddings I've been to in the past several years?" he said. "I'm not a boy anymore, though I certainly act like it. It wasn't just the flu that put matters into perspective, it was a lot of things. I don't know what I want for my life, I just want something real for once."

He reached over and took my hands. I looked in his eyes, every word he said resonating through my being.

"That was why we waited, wasn't it?" I asked

He nodded.

"The last thing I wanted was to waste something good," he replied. "Grell, I can't promise you we'll be together forever. But I want to be with you and share with you for as long as possible. You have my utmost word; I will never just toss you away like you're nothing. If you don't trust that word, I can't blame you, but please at least give me a chance."

I lifted his hands and kissed his fingers.

"I want something real too, Hamish," I said softly. "And I'm willing to take you at your word. If you ever decide I'm not worth your time or you see something you like better, do me the courtesy of telling me. I'm not a weak little girl, I can take bad news. I only ask for respect and consideration."

"And you shall have it," he said, kissing my hands as well. "I promise you that."

He rose up and took a step forward, then he leaned down and kissed me. I craned my neck up and returned the kiss, savoring the moment. I wanted to trust him, I wanted this to last for a long time as well. Whatever happened between us was what happened, I was content leaving it at that.

He finished cooking dinner and we ate our scrumptious meal together. Not a word more was spoken about that matter, I was happy to just enjoy the moment. After dinner we played, we sang, we told stories. Later we made love and fell asleep in each others arms.

I was content to leave the matter be. I had my answers, I had my own understanding of the situation. I also knew to keep a sharp eye out, though the idea of vigilance and paranoia just annoyed me. I didn't know just what Hamish and I were to each other, did I really have any room for jealousy? No, I did not enjoy the thought of him taking off for some other young buck, though I could think of worse insults.

We did a few jobs early in the week like normal. Barely a word was spoken of our conversation. On Tuesday night I did ask him if he would go to the theater cross with Colin.

"Not at all," he said in a dismissive tone. "I'm man enough to admit my shortcomings, and he was right to say something. I know he was protecting you. He cares for you like a son, it's clear as day."

I smiled a little at these words. Perhaps that had been my hope, maybe it was clear to so many more people.

Hamish mentioned something else later.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Colin having any morals against men like us," Hamish said. "He's had so many 'actresses' who were not entirely that. Not to mention he's done entertainment in a few molly houses himself. I'm sure he doesn't lean in that direction , though I wouldn't give too much care to whether he'd react with righteous indignation. In fact he probably suspects what's going on with us, hence his warning."

This word made my heart a bit lighter. I knew, however, one can never be too careful. As much as I loved Hamish and as much as I wanted to trust him, I couldn't afford to give him my full confidence. I knew that before and hearing of his little escapades only made me warier. I wanted to trust Colin as well, however that was another unknown with which I could not afford to tinker.

I went back to the theater on Wednesday as normal, Hamish arriving later in the evening. Hamish and I kept our appearances of being close friends, I did occasionally glance at Colin to see if he was paying any closer attention. I just saw his usual smile as he walked past us and spoke with the company. By the end of the evening I was a bit more relaxed and ready to leave the matter be.

The routine continued as normal; no more suspicions, no more dramatics, Colin kept his mouth shut and Hamish and I were as close as could be.

We went to Lady Marigold's a few more times, sometimes to play, other times to just enjoy a free evening. Hamish took me to a few more molly houses too, some a bit more raucous. Someone recognized him from each one of these establishments. I did have this minor fear that I would run into one of his former muses in one of these places. Hamish assured me he would keep on the lookout, though such an encounter was unlikely.

"This is a society all its own and how these ladies love to gossip," Hamish told me with a laugh. "I have quite a few friends, especially friends at the door who would not wish for matters to come to blows."

It as reassuring on one end, though mildly unsettling on another. Perhaps these poor boys were banned from such lovely establishments. Not only did they have to deal with Hamish's rejection, but the rejection of some clod at the door looking down his nose. Perhaps this would be how I would know when Hamish found someone else, though I brushed that thought away.

The more of these establishments I went to, the more my eyes went on the lovely ladies and their lovely dresses. Hamish was no longer receiving my jealousy, instead I was placing it upon these girls. Most were not simply wearing a boring skirt and white shirt. So many wore grand ball gowns, high wigs, powdered faces with red lipstick. Few were the picture of feminine beauty, I was so much prettier than they and here I was in my simple boy's outfit.

If only I still had my gown, the lady would dance happily with her handsome suitor, happy at last. I could hear her whimper a little or snap in envy. She was screaming to come out. She escaped the hell of Lord Oxford's manor and wanted to enjoy her freedom at last. Patience, I whispered to her, I would find a way to bring her out.

I didn't say anything to Hamish about my desires. Just because he was familiar with these mollies didn't mean he would ever dream of being with one, perhaps he truly found such behavior disgusting. I intended to simply keep my lips pursed. Intentions of silence aren't always kept when liquor is involved. One night we sat on a couch watching a few ladies dancing.

"Look at them," I said to Hamish after a few glasses of gin. "Old bags in lovely dresses, I look so much prettier than that."

I was in a state where I was aware of what I was saying, just not keeping myself from saying so. Even in this state I realized I might have said too much. Hamish snickered a little.

"I'm sure you make a lovely woman," he said.

"I'm a gorgeous one," I snapped back. "Alas I lack my gown; I left it in Oxford as I as kicked out. Oh why did I leave it? I lived in hiding, how I could be the belle of the ball if only I had a proper gown."

I realized my voice was cracking and tears were spilling down. I was becoming right choked up. I felt Hamish's arm wrap around my shoulder and he pulled me closer. I lay my head on his shoulder and let out a few tears, though I was just waiting for the snickers.

"Someday soon, love," he whispered in my ear. "You shall have a gown fit for your beauty. I know this to be true."

I looked up at him, seeing him giving me this mischievous smile. My brows furrowed, he kissed me on the cheek. I leaned into his shoulder again and nuzzled his neck, he ran his hand through my hair. I didn't know if this was an offer or some assurance to get me to shut the hell up; either way it felt good.

The topic was left alone right after that night, perhaps this confirmed my suspicions that Hamish simply said that to coddle me. Not like I was expecting anything from him, though the idea of having another gown burned a little hotter in my mind. Perhaps this was my inspiration to see if I could indeed craft my own. I took a better look at the construction of the dresses and robes in the theater's wardrobe, considering potential patterns and materials. It would be an ambitious endeavor, but maybe I was due for a side project. Even if it turned out dreadful, it would be better than nothing and it would be an experience.

It was drifting toward the end of October. "Twelfth Night" would be ending the second week of November, Colin said he was now considering the Christmastime drama. I gave a little more thought to how much of a role I wanted. I was aware that December marked the end of term and the onset of holiday for all the Oxford brats. By now though I was caring a little less about them. The thought of someone approaching me barely bothered me in the least, now I knew I had a measure of protection with my fellows. As I was thinking on this, so many were saying the same thing.

"You know you want a meatier part, who cares about some bratty schoolboys who wouldn't be caught dead in this part of town anyway," George said to me.

Colin overheard and gave a chuckling "here here."

I know Hamish was leaning on me a bit hard.

"Me being front and center all the time and you on the side, it really doesn't feel right to me," he said one night. "We need to be a double threat, the two of us knocking all their stockings off."

I was a bit more encouraged by this.

As October drew to a close, I moved guesthouses again. I mentioned my move to Hamish for information purposes. He simply nodded in response, though I noticed this curious look on his face. I ignored it, he was tuning his mandolin at the time and I figured he was simply deep in concentration. We practiced a little, then took a pause. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, that curious expression back on his face.

"Allow me to ask something that may seem a bit rash," he said.

"Go right ahead," I replied with a little chuckle.

"Why even bother with a guesthouse?" he said, looking right at me. "It seems you're over here more than you are there. I have plenty of room. Why don't you stay here with me?"

I was a bit startled by the question. I looked at him with furrowed brows, my mind still not fathoming what I was just asked. His smile widened and he looked at me like a proud dog who had just done a good deed.

"I would ask for some simple contribution, perhaps for food or firewood; it would probably be a hell of a lot less than you're paying for those bloody rooms," he continued. "There would be no leaving in the morning, no worries about unknown guests just a wall away. Besides you don't know how many dirty looks I've gotten from your innkeepers for simply being a visitor."

I nodded at this, I had seen some of these looks myself.

"Besides, Grell, you've been living in London for nigh on five months; perhaps now's a good time to settle in a bit more," he said.

I looked down at my violin, still trying to process what was being discussed. Naturally my first coherent thoughts were worries.

"I still don't know if staying in one place would be wise," I sighed. "I've been trying to stay on the move a bit, not keep too many patterns."

"Yet you stay at Mersey Hall, the one place the schoolboys might know where to find you," Hamish replied. "And how many run-in's have you had in half a bloody year? That would be absolute nil from what you've told me."

"And I would rather it stayed that way. Hamish, I care for you deeply. If I stay here this isn't just me at risk, the last thing I want is for you to become collateral. I don't know what the Oxford boys may do, though I don't want to even think on what Jacob or any other member of my ruddy family is capable of."

"Grell, you already said it is unlikely you would stay hidden from the family for too long. If they meant you or anyone you hold dear ill, why haven't you woken up to assassins over your bed or why hasn't Colin's beer been poisoned yet? They probably know about me already, and I'm sure Jacob knows damn well what I am by now. And what of a few college brats, would any of those Oxford boys dirty their hands so? Don't forget, Grell, I've been in the mix with some shady cads and I certainly know how to watch myself. At least give me some benefit of the doubt."

I grimaced and sighed hard. This all sounded too good to be true, or perhaps a disaster waiting to happen. Then again had I already forgotten Colin's warnings? What would happen should I find myself without this home? Probably move back into a guest house. Really, just what did I have to lose? I had two trunks worth of possessions and I already had been moving frequently. Perhaps I deserved some stability and Hamish was the best roommate I could think of. The incentive of no one having to leave in the morning was oh so tempting.

I simply replied that I would think on it, he seemed agreeable to this at the very least. I did indeed think on it. I thought of all the possible pitfalls, though the benefits were starting to speak a bit louder. I would be living in one place with my lover. I did ask Hamish a few questions about keeping discretion. Would I be truly accepted as a roommate?

One night Hamish showed me a modest bed standing on its side in a far corner of his studio. He said he acquired it from a friend, it would be perfect for a possible roommate. Two beds could be enough to maintain appearances. He said I could set up my own effects under a wide ease. As far as anyone would be concerned we were simple business partners living in the same modest quarters.

He did indeed make this proposal all the more tempting. My mind poked at me for caution, though the very thought of this was making my heart flutter. Perhaps it was time to settle in a bit, and what better roommate could I have?

We left the theater for another Friday and went to Hamish's apartment as usual, discussing a few potential jobs for a while. Talk turned to a party some middle level barrister was having

"I know this job sounds rather tempting," I said. "Should help with household expenses a bit more, maybe build up more of a pot."

Hamish's head shot up and he stared at me, mouth agape and eyes wide. I gave him a knowing smile.

"Are you saying…" he gasped, leaning toward me.

His surprise was rather amusing.

"Yes darling, I'm expecting," I said dramatically.

He lightly slapped my shoulder, I grabbed his hand and giggled.

"I carefully considered your offer and I accept," I said, kissing his hand.

He locked me into a strong embrace. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him.

"Shall we set a date?" he asked, fluttering his lashes.

"Pfft, cheeky," I said, tousling his hair. "What a good question. I'm paid through The end of the week. I suppose anytime next week…"

Next week…the first week of November. My head perked up and I looked at Hamish.

"Why not Monday? We have the day clear, I'll pick up my effects and move them here," I said.

Hamish smiled wide with a happy chuckle.

"Next Monday it is," he said.

"Though I will expect ample pampering next Friday."

"Oh? Why next Friday?"

"Because your lady love will be turning nineteen."

He got this happily surprised expression and kissed me.

"Ample pampering will indeed be necessary," he replied, kissing me again and playing with the ends of my hair.

I left the next morning, I wanted to pick up a few effects before going to the theater. It was now when I realized how glad I would be to not have to do this routine anymore. At first I was apprehensive, when I entered my sad little room I knew I made the right decision.

I thought giving myself a few last days to live in lone peace would be a good preparation for this endeavor. I found myself counting down the very hours until I would have to be out of the guesthouse on Monday. I avoided going home with Hamish for a few days, he knew the reason why.

"The groom mustn't see the bride before the wedding?" he quipped. "I am a gentleman, I understand."

It was an accurate comparison, though I did give an eye roll at the suggestion.

Sunday night I gathered my effects. I only kept a couple suits in the rickety wardrobe, usually when I stayed in these places I just kept items in my two simple trunks. Why bother taking it all out when I would just be moving it anyway. Alas a couple bottles of elixir went along with me. I did note I only had one small bottle of cognac that had barely been touched in weeks.

I decided to take a second look through these trunks. One was my original trunk from when I left Oxford, I realized I barely touched the surface of it since then. I decided to go through it; see if there were any items I didn't need any more. Maybe I could pass out something to the poor or simply feed something ripped and stained into the fire.

It just so happened I found such a thing. It was a nice cravat stiff with dried blood. Right above it was a shirt; the back was also stained with the same substance from how it was stored. The cuffs of the sleeves were also stiff; they were just inches away from my hand as I did a certain deed. I took out both these garments, looking down at them in some odd sense of sentimentality.

How things had changed in just five months, and how things remained unmentioned and unbothered. I figure they must have found the chap, unless he was still rotting in that alleyway like another piece of meat. I did hope he got a nice funeral at least.

The cravat went into the fireplace, the silk caught ablaze immediately and the whole thing was but ashes in a few minutes. I cut up the shirt into little pieces. As soon as the smoke cleared from the former cravat, I fed the little pieces into the fire. I saved the cuffs for last, giving them one last look before tossing them in as well.

I took a more careful look at the remaining items in that trunk, making sure nothing else was stained in such a manner. Thankfully nothing was; just those two. I ended up keeping everything else. The more variety the better; I might not be dressing for nobility now though I still wanted to look smart.

When the fire died out, I was a good little boy and cleared out the ash; placing it into the bucket off to the side. The lingering evidence of my crime was not but fluffy ashes. Perhaps this was a form of purification. I was about to embark on a new chapter in my life. Would there be no more blood stained clothes from here on out? Even I couldn't make that assertion. It was a thought that put a small smile on my face.

I barely slept that night. Hamish would be arriving the next morning, he actually reserved a carriage. All I could think of was how I would be in the same space with him every night; sleeping in his arms, waking to a new day by his side. Why did I choose to wait before doing this?

Monday dawned at last. I took my trunks out of the room and was immediately greeted by Hamish in the lobby. I threw my key to the clerk, the driver Hamish hired took my trunks and loaded them on the carriage. Hamish and I then boarded like any two chaps. Apparently he told the driver the story that I had fallen on some hard times and he was offering me permanent residence. It was an insipid story, though perhaps one that would keep our perfect cover.

At last we arrived at Hamish's lovely apartment, the driver loaded my trunks to the steps, Hamish paid him and he went off, then the both of us took my trunks upstairs. Hamish opened the door, then pointed to the side of the space. There under an eaves was a bed set up and a small wardrobe off to the side, another favor from a friend. I dropped my trunk by the bed and looked at it. I doubt this would see much use, but one never knows.

"Good, some place I can toss you when you misbehave," I said as soon as the door was closed.

Hamish dropped my trunk and wrapped his arms around me, then kissed me.

"Welcome home, darling," he said.

"It's good to be home," I replied, kissing him again.

I found myself putting more items into the wardrobe. There was a large set of drawers and Hamish cleared out a few for my use. He did a little tuning as I unpacked my possessions, occasionally complimenting me for some of my nicer garments. It did not take long for me to be completely settled in. Hamish made a lovely diner that night to celebrate. Later on we celebrated even more nicely in his bed.

We fell asleep in each other's arms. There would be no rushing off, there would be no worrying what I may have left at my guesthouse, everything was simply peaceful. I lightly woke during the night, savoring Hamish's warm embrace and looking over at the wardrobe with the knowledge my clothing was inside. I drifted back off to sleep, one thought floating through my mind; at last I had a place to call home.

Hamish and I spent Tuesday settling in a bit, later that night we played at that banker's party, then we returned home. I had spent whole days in his company, though it felt pleasantly odd that this was now my home. Wednesday I left ahead of Hamish for the theater, I gave him a little kiss as I walked from the door. Maybe this was how husbands and wives left each other; it was a nice feeling.

Colin said later that evening that he would soon be announcing the winter tragedy. He has it picked already, he would just wait until Sunday to let us know. Hamish and tossed around a few possibilities as we returned home, conversation that carried over a little late night refreshment on the couch.

"What if it's 'Macbeth?' Hamish asked me between sips of ale. "I hear Colin hasn't done that one in a while. How would you feel about that?"

I smirked a bit, cracking open a walnut. Yes, there was that possibility. I merely shrugged.

"I'll go for Macbeth and play him like a ruddy lunatic, maybe have some raw meat hanging from my mouth during the end scene," I said.

Hamish nearly spit out his lager, but got hold of himself long enough to swallow it. He guffawed loudly, I chortled right along with him.

I really didn't care to expound on what if any reactions I may have to taking on the Scottish Play. I wasn't going to think on it at all until Colin made that announcement.

In the meantime I had a few more important matters to deal with; such as the turn of my nineteenth year on this earth.

I awoke Friday to a bouquet of roses on the table and a lovely breakfast already being prepared. Hamish saw me stir from my sleep and walked over, sitting on the bed and kissing me.

"Happy birthday," he said, stroking my hair.

I smiled and kissed him back; I wanted this to be the best birthday I had ever had.

We sat and had a beautiful breakfast; Hamish cooked eggs and toast so delightfully.

"I have another present for you," Hamish said between bites of toast. "It will be arriving in a few hours."

"Oh my, a delivered gift," I chuckled. "Am I worthy of such grandeur?"

"You are worthy of everything, dearest," Hamish said, taking my hand and kissing my fingers.

Naturally it was to be a big surprise. I figured it was either something so large it had to be delivered, or perhaps something that was being made for me. I did fish for hints for the next hour, though he was nicely tight lipped. He wouldn't even bend when I promised to strip naked for him.

"No I am already too accustomed to your beauty to take such a cheap bribe," he snickered.

Naturally he deserved the ticklings I gave him. I did notice for the next half hour he was checking the clock. At 10 o'clock he started to get a little anxious, then came a knock at the door.

"Here it is," he said excitedly. "All I'll say is this will require a little explanation, so do not be disappointed on first sight."

It was a good warning. He opened the door for a small, nicely dressed man in a puffy wig with a bag in his hand. I was certainly glad for the warning, now I was even more in anticipation as to what this was. Hamish greeted the gentleman with a handshake. By our guest's high inflection and the loose way he held his hand, I had a feeling we were in the presence of fellow poof.

"Gregory, this is Mr. Fields," Hamish said. "He is an old friend of mine."

Mr. Fields practically pranced up to me .

"Oh is this the pretty one?" Mr. Fields giggled, and giving me a limp handshake. "The pleasure is all mine. Have you told him yet?"

"You are the special guest, I'll let you do the honors," Hamish said.

Hamish gave me these little glances with half a smirk. Mr. Fields pulled back, tapping his fingers together excitedly.

"You are so lucky to have this gentleman for a suitor," he said.

I smiled wide, hearing that was almost a present enough.

"I do not suppose you are familiar with my profession," Mr. Fields continued.

I immediately shook my head.

"Apologies, I cannot say I am," I said.

He smiled and put his bag on the table, then opened it. I looked inside and saw spools of thread, measuring tape, chalk, and the other tools of the trade for a tailor. My eyes widened slightly as he took out a small notepad and a piece of charcoal from his bag.

"Jedediah Fields, tailor extraordinaire at your service," he said with a nod. "Mr. Quinton hired me to make his lovely lady a most exquisite gown."

I threw myself at Hamish, wrapping my arms around him and giving him a hard kiss. Hamish chuckled and kissed me back, I heard Mr. Fields give a shrill giggle and clap his hands. I pulled back a bit from Hamish, my hands shook against his face. I now realized my entire body was trembling and my breath was coming in gasps. Was this real? Did I truly hear this man say what I thought he did? I looked at Hamish with my mouth gaping open. I wanted to ask him if I heard what I did, though my tongue was frozen.

"I did promise you," he said, kissing me on the cheek.

I looked in his eyes, feeling tears welling up in mine. I buried my head in his chest, a few gentle sobs escaping me. I calmed enough to kiss him.

"Thank you, Hamish," I said weakly. "Thank you oh so much."

He simply rubbed the small of my back and kissed me on the forehead. I calmed enough to look over, Mr. Fields was dabbing his dripping eyes with a handkerchief.

"You two are so very lovely," he said with a small crack in his voice. "You are so fortunate to have each other."

I could only smile in response and look at Hamish.

Mr. Fields started by taking all my measurements. Some part of me expected a few grabby hands in places, though he was more than professional. He measured my chest, then asked if I had a mind to do any sort of padding. I thought on it for a moment, recalling every flopping and out of place cloth bosom I had ever seen. I told Mr. Fields I really had little mind to pad, if I did it would be modest. He actually gave me a few pointers for how to add some bulk in places with clothes and make it look truly natural.

"You do have a bit of a slight build, yet an athletic physique," he said. "I could design something that looks a little more natural."

After he took my measurements we spoke about the style. I wanted something in red, that was nonnegotiable. He said the fabric would be a little pricier, Hamish insisted he didn't care. Hamish did contribute a few suggestions, some on what he could afford and others on the shape of my form. At the end of our discussion, Mr. Fields sketched out this truly elegant gown with a modest bodice yet ample ruffles and gathers.

"Does this compare at all to the gown you had before?" Hamish asked.

"It is so much lovelier," I replied. "And this time properly fitted."

Mr. Fields snickered at this. I did tell him the story of how I got my previous one, he was shaking his head a few times.

"Such is the peril of society," he said. "It is a story I have heard many times. That is why I will gladly offer my services to every lovely lady, whether lady in body or lady in spirit."

I grinned widely at this.

Mr. Fields left around 1 by the clock with ample salutations. He promised to have the dress ready in the next few weeks.

"If you could have it at lest ready by Christmas I would be most appreciative," Hamish said. "Give my love a special Christmas gift as well."

Mr. Fields aid he would likely have it earlier, though his services were quite in demand with different types of clientele. At last he was gone and I just had to shower Hamish with kisses once again. He was truly an amazing man.

I went to the theater later that afternoon. Everyone knew the significance of the day and there were quite a few well wishes. The show was exquisite that evening. After everything was over and after everyone was all changed and freshened up, we went to a nice pub and toasted to my nineteenth birthday.

Here I was among friends, here I was with the generous man I loved. There was no thought of proper gatherings or currying favor. Everything was as it should be in that one moment.

I believe it was the best birthday I had ever had.


	53. Part 53

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 53**

Sunday night right after the show, Colin gathered us all round. As usual, he showed the backside of a book then turned it around.

"The Tragedy of Macbeth."

Everyone cheered, I laughed so hard I was practically crying. I felt a few pats on the back and heard "Uh oh, look what it is, old man" from George.

"I told you," Hamish chuckled. "We were just bloody talking about that."

Colin snickered a bit, then calmed everyone down with a raised hand.

"Grell, I swear this was not done to spite you," he said.

"Oh get on," I laughed, waving a dismissing hand.

Everyone else chuckled along with me.

"Though I will be absolutely clear; you, my friend, will now be allowed to play Fleance or Macduff's son," he mockingly scolded, waving a finger at me. "I don't care how good you may have been."

I nearly fell to the floor I was laughing so hard.

Auditions were to be held the next Wednesday. Hamish said since he already did the lead, he would likely get Ross or one of the thanes.

"You're going for something big right?" he asked.

I really couldn't give an answer; Hamish was a good boy and didn't press. I could tell he figured this was a sensitive topic for me.

There was a bit of weight in my mind, though I was hardly disturbed or upset at this. Instead I gave more thought to if I wanted a larger role. I wasn't interested in going for the title role. The thought did occur to me that doing this role might not be all that good for my sanity. How many times had I likened my deeds to that of Macbeth? Perhaps this was one fellow whose head I did not wish to explore.

I wasn't all that interested in going for Macduff either; perhaps I could do Banquo? After some thinking, I knew exactly what part I wanted to do. I learned the lines to one soliloquy in particular, Hamish heard me rehearsing and chuckled with my choice.

"I think you'll be amazing," he said.

The following Wednesday I listened to one reading after another. Ephraim and George were going for Macbeth. Ephraim is normally such a jovial chap I never figured him for a haughty, bloodthirsty monster. He did play the title role in "Richard III" last year, though alas I cowered away from seeing it.

He read the spectral dagger scene and I immediately rethought my opinion. His delivery was intense and rich; I could certainly imagine him playing out a gradual corruption. George did "Tomorrow and tomorrow," he was certainly good, though a part of me was cheering for Ephraim.

Hamish did read for Ross, he did his usual wonderful job. There were a few new chaps, mostly reading for the larger parts but that was to be expected. Then Colin called me up, I only took a moment to get in character.

My chest went out a little and my head went high. I was now a king robbed of his crown, a son of a murdered father. I was now Malcolm, I was now testing what it was to be someone truly noble. I looked to the side as if addressing Macduff.

"Macduff, this noble passion, child of integrity, hath from my soul wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts to thy good truth and honor," I started.

I started a bit righteous, but then I found myself relaxing a bit. I delivered my lines in a more self assured, perhaps world-weary way. I did deliver with sincerity a few lines with more than a hint of irony for me.

"I am yet unknown to woman, never was forsworn, scarcely have coveted what was mine own, at no time broke my faith, would not betray the devil to his fellow and delight, no less in truth than life," I delivered.

How appropriate that I was using this for my audition for this play at this time. I endeavored not to think on it too much; after all absorbing myself in every character was unwise.

I received lovely applause when I was finished, I gave a modest bow in response.

Colin said he would announce the roles the next evening. We all left, giving each other our compliments on their performances. Hamish gave me his own compliments later that evening.

"You know you're Malcolm," he said. "He doesn't announce things right away any more, but I just know."

Considering the state of things, I trusted he was right. In fact I was sure Colin was glad I took on a bit of a meatier role.

At the end of the show in Thursday, true to his word, Colin announced the final cast. Ephraim would play Macbeth himself; I was most pleased with this. George was announced as Macduff, Shannon would play Lady Macbeth, Hamish was indeed Ross.

As predicted, with no surprise but ample happiness, I was in fact announced for Malcolm. I happily clapped when the announcement was made.

As for Fleance and Macduff's son, those two would be played by a few friends of the theater. Fleance would be played by a boy named Jasper, an apprentice at a neighboring theater. Macduff's son would be Elias' boy Mickey, who we heard had been nagging his dad about being a famous actor too.

"Grell maybe you could give them a few pointers on their roles," Colin ribbed.

"Can I be their understudy?" I squeaked with an excitedly raised hand.

The laughs that went around were glorious.

It was mentioned more than a few times at the pub later how I seem to be creeping my way to bigger roles.

"What can I say, I just have to show my grand self a bit more," I replied, flicking back my hair.

Everyone laughed at this.

"I will tell you one thing that most got my attention," Colin said. "Those lines you delivered; normally they are done in a tone of righteous pride. You delivered them with a bit more casualness matched with ample self-confidence. It was like you had nothing to prove; it was a different approach, I liked it."

I smiled and raised my glass. I certainly took that as a compliment.

Spirits were high into the next week. Sunday we would close out "Twelfth Night," soon after we would begin rehearsals for "Macbeth." Then Colin announced the following Wednesday that our schedule was going to be much shorter, by a week to be exact. A few sighs and groans went up in response to this, though no one made too much protest. Colin nodded his head with a grimace.

"I know, not the most advantageous of schedules and yes we're going to have to work much harder," he said. "The last few runs had some late starts and some later endings. That was good for our wallets, though not so good for the timing. I want to get as much word out as possible before Christmas. This means we have to start a bit earlier."

The lot wasn't entirely happy, though there was a clear sense of understanding. The groans did not last long and were quickly replaced with resolve. Everyone vowed to make this spectacular. Personally I was excited for the challenge, more like I was excited for the whole thing.

This was a form of sweet redemption for me. I knew this well, though I tried as I could not to think on that too much. The last thing I wanted was to drag out some old demons to this nice, comfortable space. Instead this could be an exercise in personal achievement and this challenge of time could prove immensely helpful. I would take on any difficulty and any challenge and come out triumphant.

I poured through my script at many a free moment. Hamish did the same and after just a few days we were reading lines back and forth. This ended up being a nice benefit of living together, our study partners were right in the same space.

As we immersed ourselves in "Macbeth," the next week was dedicated to closing out "Twelfth Night." The final run of shows was spectacular; we even had a few packed houses. Sunday night we got in our costumes and did our lines for the last time on this wonderful play. Everyone would go backstage upon their final scenes with great smiles and ample laughs.

We all took the stage for curtain call to thunderous applause. We even did a few last interactions as our characters. Sam and I were hitting each other with grain sacks as we went out, then paused and bowed. In the end all of us linked hands for that one final bow, the applause was like a hard wind of pure happiness against all of us.

Later that night we celebrated at the pub. I kept my wits about me, though I noticed Hamish was getting a bit tipsy. For once I was the one to escort him home and did so with more than a few snickers. I was a little surprised, I thought his weakened stomach could not tolerate alcohol that well. He later slept like a baby and woke with just a tiny headache the next morning.

"I wasn't acting stupid last night, was I?" he asked.

"Sorry, love, no horrid tales," I responded, putting the kettle on. "You were a rather boring drunk."

"Bloody hell how long has it been since I did that? Damn, maybe my stomach's gotten tougher. Just a few months ago a drop of rum would send me retching."

"Perhaps you really are getting better."

He simply chuckled a little and scratched his head.

Hamish and I enjoyed a few relaxed, yet productive days. On Wednesday we met for the first rehearsals for the Scottish Play. I came early as usual, joining in the planning for the set pieces. I did have a little talk with Georgia later about possible costuming ideas. We had more than a few pieces in need of refreshing and made plans to meet just to sew up some tears and loose hems.

Rehearsals officially began later in the evening. Already Colin was leaning on us hard. His manner was still polite, yet I saw a little more intensity in his directing pace. It was truly helpful to know his different styles and know what to expect lest my own ego try to get in the way.

Early the next evening I was delivering my lines alongside one of our old friend Robert as Duncan and a new boy named Dennis as Donalbain. I took the stage, delivered my lines on the death of Cawdor, and Colin only gave me a few suggestions on my footing. I left the stage after that scene with this odd sense of accomplishment; considering the whippings I took at Chamberlain. I had been at this only a little while and already I was a bit more encouraged.

The time was already dwindling the moment we started. There were a few later nights the next week, though with ample repetitions from Colin that those with obligations the next morning could leave earlier. Hamish and I stayed for those late nights; it was a bit fun actually.

Hamish told me one day he felt some of his old energy returning. He said he could stay up later and do more, far more than he had been able in just the past few months. I was most happy for him; he was truly recovering from his ordeal.

Some late nights also meant coming home completely awake and unwilling to settle down. This lead to a few extra and a few more creative intimate activities. We started experimenting a bit, both with a few suggestions we had heard in our travels. Hamish did have a bit more experience than I did and I trusted him. Oh what fun we were having: so many naughty positions, so much dirty play. For all his gentleness, he could be a filthy little boy and I absolutely adored it.

We found ourselves in some compromising positions for the better part of the evening on a Friday. I think some straps might have been involved; a few feathers were definitely involved. We finished and practically collapsed where we were. I have no idea what the clock read when we finally crashed, though I recall opening my eyes and seeing it was close to noon.

We rose soon after this, cleaned up, and settled down with some tea as I prepared for work. I found I was blowing my nose on my napkin a bit more than just a coincidence. Oh damn, I forgot to take any elixir the night before. Here I was just an hour before I had to be at work and the demon is starting to whine a bit. This was just a bad situation all around.

I wasn't interested in spending another rehearsal, especially a long one, in shaking chills. I took a tiny drop just before leaving; perhaps I could manage the lesser of the evils. Alas it wouldn't work to my advantage; I was nice and groggy for a better part of the afternoon. And yes I found myself doing some hammering whilst trying to concentrate on the head of the nail. Thankfully there were a few strikes of the board and not any fingers. I was trying to keep up with some instructions and conversations, though I was lucky I heard anything over the hazy static.

"You sleepwalking?" Elias asked me in a bit of an aggravated tone.

Eventually Colin came up to me.

"Did you sleep a wink last night?" he asked. "Maybe you should leave a little earlier tonight, I know last night was a little arduous."

I insisted I was fine, though I could feel my cheeks growing hotter and hotter. Christ, coming in with the shakes was embarrassing enough, coming in groggy was even worse. I felt like such a knob.

Most of the company came in a little earlier. I was still a little groggy meeting them though I could feel the elixir wearing off. Hamish did make eye contact with me for a moment, though I looked away. The look on his face told me everything; he simply patted me on the back and nodded. By the time rehearsal started I was much more present, though sick with humiliation. This was utter bollocks, I fucking hated this. Colin wasn't saying a word about this to me, though he just had to put in an extra advisement for everyone to get plenty of rest despite this schedule. He may as well have shined a huge light on me, I just wanted to crawl somewhere.

By the end of the night I was feeling much better. Before we left, Colin spoke a little about the Christmas schedule. We would do performances the Monday and Tuesday evening before Christmas, making for a bit of a longer week. However we would break for the holidays as usual that Wednesdat, then return to the stage the second of January.

We would have over a week off as usual. Hamish started talking about a few holiday parties we could play in the meantime. Quite a few upper end types would want entertainment; home parties, office parties, tavern hall feasts. He said he would be careful in not choosing anyone I knew.

Amidst all this talk about that weeklong break, one idea burned hotter in my mind. One full, empty week: would one week be enough for what I wanted to do? What of Christmas, what of New Years? I thought on it a bit more, then made up my mind.

I told Hamish my intentions over dinner one night.

"Christmas night, after all our jobs and celebrations, I'm taking my last drop," I said.

Hamish looked up at me, his mouth dropped open a little.

"We have a free week; knowing where I am now, I hope that should be enough time to purge," I continued. "I will be sick as hell and I doubt I'll be in any shape to play, though I need to do this. I'm tired of this rubbish."

Hamish stared at me, then nodded.

"Are you sure you will need only that time?" he asked. "This might take longer."

"At least by the end of that week I'll know where I am," I sighed. "If I have to make some arrangements with Colin, if I have to tell him everything, so be it. I just want to be done with this."

Hamish reached over the table and gently took hold of my arm.

"I will go on those jobs; I'll bring the usual boys with me, maybe a few extra," he said. "But I promise I will stay by your side as much as possible. You will need someone to take care of you and you have my word I will do so."

I savored the feeling of his grasp, my hand gently rubbed the top of his.

"I would appreciate that," I said.

He simply smiled back.

I made a point to change the subject; I would rather not deal with this unpleasantness now. I choked down another drop later that night, the thought of finally being free from this made me shiver in excitement. I didn't care how sick I got in the process; let the flames of Hell lap me up for I'm not going to shelter this demon for much longer.

We still had another week of rehearsals to go and the schedule was a bit more pressing. I had high energy coming in, though near the end I found myself getting a little snippy and knew I had to watch that a bit more. For me slight irritability could turn into something far worse; something I did not want my fellows or my gentleman love to see.

I found myself looking at the two boys playing Fleance and Macduff's son. Jasper, the boy playing Fleance, was a natural already. He was a theater apprentice after all, I also found him very witty for his tender years. Elias' son Mickey on the other hand was your typical silly little boy and required a bit more bribing to stay in character. He who could only hold his attention for so long, though when he did his delivery was natural.

I cannot say how much I enjoyed seeing these two up and coming actors in these roles. I believe what I enjoyed most is Colin's gentle manner with them and hoe the rest of the cast would encourage them. The taint of the Chamberlain Society was being cleansed; there was happiness where there had been wickedness and spite.

Colin said he was spreading the word about this production a bit more aggressively. The numbers had been steadily rising, perhaps a bit more push could take this into the heavens. This was partly why he wanted to start this production a bit earlier, get the word out as soon as possible and better tie it in with the profitable Christmas season. Colin was a true artist, but he was also a businessman; I had ample respect for that.

Dress rehearsals got underway by the end of that week. I was proud to have had a say in some of the costuming choices and everyone seemed pleased with what they received. I was doing a bit more make-up too and receiving some praise for my skills.

With some advice from Colin, we were also incorporating a few more make-up effects; cuts and bruises for the opening post-battle scene, odd skin tones for the Witches, the many gashes on Banquo's ghost, so many more. The aim was to add a bit more color to get the audience's attention. Georgia and I learned how to create bruises and cuts and how some jam melted over a candle can make for some lovely blood streaks. Playing with this a little was more than a bit enjoyable.

As I entered the world of special make-up and costuming choices, I did have one simpler costuming dilemma: what to do with my hair. Before I powdered it or bound it in a hat. I thought on a few more options to hide my hair this time, though the thought of doing so grated on me. I was growing tired of hiding.

The nagging though remained in my mind that the play would be taking place after the end of term. The same brats who would be home from school for the holidays were likely the ideal market for Colin's advert campaign. Even this line of thinking was getting a bit old. I had used ample caution for the past six months and heard not a word from any Oxford twats or any family members. Colin and the rest swore to protect me, Hamish essentially vowed to be my knight, why not give them my trust?

My own final design included my hair hanging down freely, though brushed straight out with a bob. It was a popular look from the medieval era I found appropriate for a young prince. I did get a few encouraging comments during dress rehearsal:

"You finally unveiled your true ginger self."

"That's it, let that hair flow free."

"Ooh how handsome, what a lovely lad," and that one was from Sam, accompanied by some hands through my hair.

I knew I made the right choice already.

We came in a little earlier on Wednesday to get ready for the opening the next evening. By now everyone had a bit of a rest, the stress was replaced with giddiness. Energies were high, everything was ready, all that was left was a day before the big moment. Hamish and I both had a hard time settling to sleep that night. We were chatting and laughing and making a few predictions; we were like two little boys the night before Christmas.

I went in a bit earlier the next morning, helping everyone put on the final touches backstage. All the players came in a bit earlier as well and I helped everyone with their costumes and makeup details. I confess I was tickling Hamish a little with the brush when putting on his cuts and bruises for that opening scene after the battle with Norway. When everyone was ready, I got into my own costume. There would be no rapid changing of costumes to do scene changes here; I was being given a bit of a break from that. Now was my time to be a star.

I donned my costume, got my own basic makeup, and had my hair brushed out. I took one look in the mirror and saw a proud prince. I myself as Malcolm: a noble boy turned exile who became a brave warrior to reclaim his rightful title. A smile came over my face; perhaps I did have more in common with Malcolm than the usurper who killed his father and took his crown. It was a bit of a reassuring thought.

Everyone was giddy with excitement. Then we took a few peeks out to see a full house, all you could hear from us was giggles mixed with some nervous deep breathing. Colin gathered us for the pre-show prayer. I was sure we would charm the cloudy pants off God himself. We broke with cheers, then lined up to get this thing started.

Everything was magical, I watched with smiles as everything fell perfectly into place. Everyone was in their best forms, the audience was wonderful. Then I took these first steps onstage. The thought that someone might recognize me popped through my mind for but a second and was swatted away. No, let them see who I really am. I didn't give a damn now who noticed, who didn't, and who didn't give a shit. I was bloody Malcolm, that's all that mattered.

I went into character rather easily, though kept myself from becoming too immersed. My lines and blocking flowed with everyone else. Everyone's timing and delivery were perfect; everything just fell into place. I left the stage later and watched Ephraim go into place for his soliloquy, I could see the ambition and greed dripping off him though he was nicely restrained for this stage of the play.

It was so much fun watching everyone get completely into their roles through the night, weaving a rich tapestry of drama. Minute by minute the Chamberlain twats were put more and more to shame. This thought was in my mind every time I went onstage. After my flight following Duncan's death I was offstage more than on, though I helped out backstage and kept half an eye on the proceedings.

Returning for my scene with Macduff was a wonderful moment. I played with a bit more confidence, ready to take on all my enemies and grasp that crown. George and I worked so well together in that moment. Then Hamish came on as a nervous Ross bearing horrible news. This was our big scene together; he was talking more with George in that moment though we did exchange a few casual glances.

I was active from here until the end and everything only got better. I loved watching Ephraim turn into this ruthless despot; he played the bastard oh so well. George was perfect as Macduff, he put so much controlled rage into his part. Hamish had a smaller role this time but he was no less crisp and memorable. Shannon was a bit restrained as Lady Macbeth, though it was a decent performance.

In the end Macduff delivered bloody sack filled with Macbeth's head (it was actually a ball covered in rags) and handed me the wooden crown. I bravely took the crown and placed it on my head with hails and bows. I just had to look over all my subjects in that moment and feel a little gleeful. At last the curtain closed and a roar erupted from the crowd. We all left the stage in joyous laughs and relieved sighs. Hamish locked me in a hard embrace like any other enthusiastic buddy.

"You were brilliant, just bloody brilliant," he said.

"I'll take that as a compliment from such a talent," I replied, patting him on the shoulder.

There were ample embraces all around, everyone complimented each other, it was just a moment of pure love and joy. We then lined up for that final bow. I went out before Macduff, walking onstage proudly and waving to the audience. I wondered again if anyone out there would recognize me. I smiled at the thought, then I waved high and bowed low. It was a huge "fuck you" to every single bastard who ever intended to drag me down. I was in a decent production of "Macbeth" and I shined as Malcolm; this was the applause I was owed. Soon everyone was onstage and linking hands for that last bow, the applause was like a screeching gale for us. We then left the stage, the applause gradually quieted, everything was perfect.

I stayed backstage as usual for the meet and greet, though I was starting to wonder if this was the better idea. I had gotten to the point of not caring, though it was opening night in my biggest role since returning. I removed my costume and tidied up a bit, keeping my feet still and not marching out to the lobby. At last the company returned, I felt slightly relieved the moment was over and there was no choice anymore. Perhaps it was time, however, to do a little more reevaluating.

We all gathered at the pub like conquering warriors and drank like them too. I was a bit looser with the liquor, though I made sure to watch myself. I did get a bit tipsy, Hamish joined me in this boat too. We did get a little more affectionate. We weren't snogging right in front of everyone, but there were a few more shoulder pats, embraces, a bit more silly talk. Even half drunk I knew to be careful and Hamish was showing some restraint too.

We eventually left together and went back home for some clumsy, inebriated filthiness.

Thankfully there were no headaches or time spent over a pot the next morning. We were nice and refreshed ad excited to go back the next day.

The second night of "Macbeth" was another smashing success. The initial thrill was done; we all were in a state of pleasant contentment now and happy to bring this to the masses. I skipped the meet and greet later that night, though I was itching a bit more to get out there. The third night I told Colin I was comfortable enough to go out. He responded with some raised eyebrows.

"Are you sure you feel secure enough?" he asked.

"I'm tired of hiding," I said. "I am already up in front of everyone, it would be even more glaring if I wasn't out. I would feel safe out there in the company of my friends."

Colin nodded.

"You do whatever is comfortable for you," he said. "If anyone tries anything, we will be there. Just make sure you stay close with the group."

Sunday night after curtain call, I filed out with everyone else in the lobby. I smiled widely at all the surprised looks from my fellows, though all the pats on the back and pushes out filled my heart with joy. I went right out there with everyone, putting all bad thoughts out of my mind.

So many people came up to me, shook my hand, and raved about my performance. By the end my face hurt from grinning so hard. All I saw was one wonderful soul after another and that was all I cared about. In the end we all piled backstage to get our costumes off. My heart was pounding and every nerve tingled with glee. I felt I reclaimed something grand.

Monday and Tuesday were beautiful days off. After all the hard work and buildup it felt good to have some time to breathe. Hamish and I played at a few taverns and just enjoyed each other's company. Wednesday we returned to the theater for more nights of this wonderful show. With all the work we did, everyone was excited for each new night, Numbers remained strong and there were so many lovely comments. Colin was also pointing out some rave reviews we were getting from some small publications.

After the second week, I forgot I was watching out for anyone. By now the children were back from school and anyone could have been out there. I saw no familiar faces nor was there any unkind words except for those from a few critics. I never heard my Christian name mentioned by anyone other than my fellows. This was most encouraging and I found myself caring even less. Society boys tend to enjoy tearing you up behind your back rather than your face, so if any of that was happening it was thankfully beyond my knowledge. Perhaps everyone just forgot I existed, that would be lovely but either way it was far from my business.

The time drew closer to Christmas. Hamish and I savored a last calm Monday and Tuesday before the holiday schedule kicked in. He told me he would be making some broth after Christmas; I would need something to eat even if I was going to puke it up. He was getting blankets together and taking inventory of his bowls. I looked at these small preparations and my heart sank ever so slightly. This was what I had to look forward to that week; this was how serious this would be. This was what had to happen, this would be the gateway to my freedom from this nonsense.

Wednesday it was back for rehearsal, Thursday started a long week of performances. The audience swelled each night. The holidays did indeed bring out so many; so many tickets as early presents, so many diversions from party planning, so many opportunities to curry favor with one's associates at intermission. Regardless they were all here us in the end and we worked our arses off to wow them.

As the days to the break grew shorter, my thoughts turned a bit more to my plans. I prayed to God this would be all the time I needed to purge this evil from my blood. I knew how sick I could get after a day or so, but what would happen to me the longer I went? If this would be a flensing, then so be it. I took my drop every night and every morning counting down the days to when this nonsense would be done.

Tuesday then settled upon us. By now all of us were tired. Sam needed a replacement that night as he couldn't get free time from work that one evening, though everyone else was able to make it. Colin gave us a rousing speech encouraging us to give them everything, give one final bang to send the word about us and bring more people back after the holidays.

We did our best that night; everyone was pushing themselves even further. Applause was thunderous through the evening, every gasp and ah from the audience was like music. The audience cheered as I took my crown in that final scene, the curtain closed and we were greeted with thunder. I practically ran back out onstage for my last bow, savoring all the claps and cheers. I wanted to hold this memory as I spent my coming week in retching agony. Perhaps this could be some good medicine to replace the poison.

We gathered at the pub later and toasted to Christmas, a few of us making some plans to visit for parties and such. It dawned on me this would be my first Christmas as a free man. There would be no high parties, no fake smiles, no time at the table with more enemies. That day I only wanted to share the company close friends and the man I loved.

For the next few days Hamish and I did our best to amuse ourselves. We played a few jobs, did a little refresher rehearsing, even recited lines from some other plays. My lovely tailor Mr. Fields sent us a note that my grand gown would likely be ready after the New Year. He gave his ample apologies, business had been booming. I was glad for the word; I was greatly anticipating this gift though I could certainly be patient. Perhaps this would be a lovely reward after going through my purge, Hamish said something to that effect as well.

We bought each other little gifts for Christmas and wrapped them out of each other's sight. There was quite a bit of teasing as to who was getting what. Hamish did bring up a modest, yet lovely tree on Christmas Eve. We decorated it with some old gold balls and plenty of candles.

Christmas morning I awoke in his arms, peeking out the window to see a fresh coating of snow on the ground. We woke, took our time getting out of bed, then sat by the tree like little boys and unwrapped each other's gifts. Hamish got me a few books of poetry, a new stringing kit, some lovely bottles of wine. He also gave me this wonderful painting of a fair young Greek warrior in the nude; a piece a friend of his did. I mostly got him some basics; books, instrument oil, sheet music. I did get him a few nice cravats for some of our higher end jobs.

We ate a hearty breakfast, loitered around the apartment watching the snow, then we did a little rehearsing for a nice party we would play at later that night. I tried not to think on my intentions for the rest of the week, I only marveled at the wonderful Christmas I was having.

The sun went down later and we went to the house of a rich trader who was throwing a fete for his associates. I watched as the men in nice suits sipped their drinks and kissed each other's backsides, though I found my view of things from across my violin to be so much nicer. The drunker people got the less polite the comments were in our general direction, but it was all part of the fun. We left that night with a nice amount of coin between the two of us.

Later on we changed and went to Colin's apartment for a small gathering he was having. So many of our friends were there too as well as so many of Colin's old associates. Hamish chatted with quite a few people I had never met before and he was sure to introduce me, many times singing his praises of my talents. It was a bawdy evening, though I made sure to watch the liquor. I had one more date later that night with something that deserved a formal rejection.

We left later in the evening, giving our ample wishes of good cheer. Hamish and I kicked up a little snow as we casually walked back to the apartment. I looked over all the rooftops at the clear night sky. A few carols were still going around, some people would pass us with a "Happy Christmas" or the like. I took all of it in, what a happy Christmas it had been indeed.

We returned to the apartment, the clock read around midnight. Both of us were drained, Hamish got the bed ready. I took out that damnable bottle and set it on the table next to a glass of wine, glaring at it with every ounce of bile I could muster. Hamish walked to the table and looked at me with a sigh.

"Now's the moment?" he asked.

I nodded, picking up the bottle at last. I twisted the stopper out and put one whole drop in the wine, then corked it again. I took the bottle in my hand and walked over to the window, opening it a crack and casting it to the street. The bottle broke against the empty cobblestones with a shrill crack: those awful contents spilling all over. That was my final word, that was the start of my future.

I returned back to the table, Hamish stared at me with a worried gaze. I gave him a soft look, then a grim smile. I took the glass in my hand and raised it.

"Merry Christmas," I said, then downed the contents of the glass.

The bitterness of the elixir hit my tongue hard, though it was tempered with some sweet wine. I put the glass back on the table then looked at Hamish. Hamish moved a little closer to me and took my hand.

"Just remember I will be with you through this whole thing," he said.

I clasped his hand hard and nodded. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. I gently rested my head on his shoulders. My body was now feeling a bit lighter, my vision turning watery; the drug was taking effect.

This was the last time, I promised myself: the very last time.


	54. Part 54

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 54**

The storm was coming; the smell was in the air and clouds hung lower, though all was calm for a little while. The preparations had been made to batten down the hatches, though I wasn't about to stay inside and wait for the hell. We took a few jobs that day; someone's Boxing Day luncheon and a tavern later that night.

I insisted conditions were still clear enough to spend a little time at Lady Marigold's, chatting with the funny lords and even funnier ladies. Later on the skies were darkening to a light tiredness and the first drops were falling into my handkerchief. Gradually the cold gripped me a little harder; I was shivering.

At a certain point Hamish just took my arm and gently lead me to the door. I kept upright and showed no sickness, though the minute we were in the street the breeze just chilled me to an icicle. I walked home to my own power. I wanted to remain as upright and active as I possibly could; shut out the demon's screams and not give it any recognition. This was my last "fuck you" to this awfulness; I was going to withstand it as best as I could.

We returned home and went to bed, though sleep barely came. I was out of bed more than in, pacing the floor or doing some sketches to the rhythm of my pounding heart. Hamish occasionally awoke and asked how I was. I simply told him to just get back to sleep, don't mind me. At some point I just lay down and managed a few winks. I awoke to a burning ache in my belly, finding myself in sheets soaked with sweat. I knew it was only down from there.

I wasn't going back to sleep. The storm was settling in and it was only going to get worse and worse. By daylight my insides felt like they were slowly being twisted. Thankfully Hamish positioned a large bowl right by the bed and it allowed me to get rid of the last things I ate. After a while I was retching air and the occasional juices.

Hamish made good on his word and tended to my every need. He wiped down my burning face with damp cloths, if I sweat too hard or retched the wrong way or even soiled the sheets he would put me in fresh blankets. Sometimes he would put a steaming bowl of broth to my lips and encourage me to drink. Inevitably the broth would end up in bowl, though he kept it coming. He would give me tea with plenty of honey to make my throat feel less disgusting.

He did all of this whilst simply talking with me. We shared a few stories, got into a few philosophical discussions, bandied about a few wild fantasies. It kept my mind off the sick in my body. I managed enough strength at some points to take up my instrument and try to play as fast as I could before the next wave of aches hit. It was difficult at times to keep my bow steady as my muscles trembled, though it was a nice point of focus.

I managed a little sleep that night, though there were frequent interruptions by some ache or feeling as if my flesh was on fire. Hamish did sleep in the other bed, though occasionally he wandered back over until I got too hot and went back. It felt terrible not having him beside me, though I just needed to remind myself he was but a few feet away and watching over me. It was a thought that gave me immense comfort through my pains.

Daylight fully woke me, though I was hardly fully alert. I felt drained and the fun only continued. By the afternoon I was pacing around the floor, a handkerchief in my hand for emptying my nose and wiping my brow until it became too saturated with both. By nightfall I was growing even more agitated just being in the same space.

Hamish recommended a quick walk and I enthusiastically agreed. I wore a nice thick coat against the chill in the air and walked at a quick pace to shake off my aches, seeing Hamish keeping up right beside me. I forget how long we walked for, though I felt a bit better with every step. My stomach was still twisted and my clothes were soaked in sweat, though the agony waned significantly.

We eventually settled in a pub we usually frequented, meeting with a few of Hamish's musician friends. I sipped a half pint of cider and enjoyed a little chitchat with our mates. A little normality felt breathtaking. After a while my stomach started to turn again and I nearly gagged out my cider on the floor. Thankfully Hamish was still chatting and didn't notice, I prayed that was an isolated incident and I could stay in this happy place. I had my wish for a little while longer, though the itching was creeping back into my legs and sitting still was becoming much harder.

I was walking the floor when Hamish met my gaze.

"Well chaps, look at the time," Hamish said to our mates.

My heart sank, though I knew this was inevitable. The fact I was able to sit in one place for a while was a wonderful sign already, perhaps it as best to take this a step at a time. Hamish and I soon left with merry partings and returned to the street.

"You seem a bit better," Hamish said.

"I'm feeling a little closer to normal," I replied. "I needed that stop. If only we could have stayed a little longer."

"Well the hour is growing later and if we stayed I doubt the conversation would have stayed articulate."

I nodded with a snicker.

"True, I'm sick enough I doubt the liquor would have helped," I said.

I did find myself sleeping a little easier that night. My legs twitched something dreadful, though my stomach was calming and my pores a little more closed. I was walking about a little more that next day. Hamish and I practiced together again; I found I was holding the violin a little more upright a bit longer. I was holding down solid food a bit better too and puking it up a little less and a little later.

The thought crossed my mind that perhaps the storm was waning, perhaps the demon was wearing out. I wanted to be optimistic, though I cautioned myself against thinking too hopefully. This was just the first step, the first moments of slight calm though storms had a way of picking up. I was still emptying my nose on a regular basis; I still had to get up frequently to ignore the crawling in my skin and the twitching in my legs. At least I was out of bed, which was a good sign in itself.

That night Hamish did have to leave for a job. He and a few of his mates had scored a lovely party held by some high wig that was going to pay rather handsomely.

"Are you going to be all right alone?" Hamish asked, case in hand as he was about to walk out the door.

"I'll be fine, you get out of here and make some bloody money," I said, kissing him on the cheek and adjusting his scarf. "I can amuse myself."

He smiled with a nod, then kissed me.

"Jimmy and Ethel are home as always, give them a knock if you start feeling worse," he said, a reference to our neighbors and friends down the hall.

"Right right, send my regards to the chaps," I said, gently pushing him to the door.

He walked out with a wave and closed the door behind him.

I was, in fact, fine that night; in fact I started feeling a bit better. I later went out for a little walk, had a half pint, came back and occupied myself with little tasks. Hamish ended up being gone for quite a few hours. I figured the party must have lasted a while, or perhaps Hamish went out for a few drinks with the boys. I really didn't care to be honest. Around midnight I crawled into bed to make some attempt at sleeping.

The sound of the door opening woke me right up. I opened my eyes to see Hamish coming back in the apartment, gently laying his case on the floor and putting his coat on the hook.

"Was it a lovely party?" I said groggily.

He looked over at me, then gave this little smile.

"Lovely on my wallet," he replied, pulling his scarf off and throwing it on the couch. I did hear a slur in his words. "This will pay our rent for a few months."

"Fantastic!"

We exchanged a few words of chitchat. He did have the telltale slur from a few drinks, though still I swore I heard some nerves in his voice. He was slightly stumbling over a few words and saying a few things with this awkward smile. I was too tired to think too much on it, in fact I knew already I was too tired to make any conclusions on anything. He was soon in his bedclothes and cozying up beside me. I took a look at the clock and saw it was nearly 3. He must have had a good time, though I was too tired to even remark on it.

The regular nose blowing, the slight twitching in my legs, and going between feeling icy or burning was keeping me up more, though the thought of why he was out so late did not cross my mind at all. The last time I looked at the clock it as around 6 in the morning. I would open my eyes again to find it was closer to 10. I believe that was the most restful sleep I had in the past few days.

I was soon up and restless, I couldn't stand the thought of being still for any longer. I tidied up anything I could find, a rag was in my hand at the ready though I wasn't using it as much as before. Hamish slept in a little later, though I still decided to start breakfast. He roused around 11:30, I greeted him laying out some bread on the table and getting the plates ready. Soon he was up and sitting at the table. I had plates out and was putting some eggs on both.

"What a fine thing to wake up to," he said with a smile. "You must be feeling a bit better."

"A bit," I replied. "I'm bored with being sick, I'd rather be accomplishing something."

"Good on you," he said, lifting his fork and moving around some eggs.

I put the pan on the counter and took a seat myself.

"You must have been a busy boy last night," I said, lifting my own fork.

"Essentially. Those stuck-up twats went into the morning. Then the boys and I did some pub hopping, I hadn't done that in a long time."

"Well good for you, I'm sure it beats cleaning up after my arse for days."

He said nothing, though I was a tad surprised at the quick look I got. I sipped my cup and looked right back at him.

"It was but a few hours out," he murmured, shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth.

"And it was likely a few hours you needed," I replied, though slightly annoyed at his tone.

He simply nodded and took a slice of bread; his dour expression grated on me.

"You in a mood this morning?" I asked.

"A little tired is all," he replied.

"And headachy I can imagine. Then again I've rarely seen you with a hangover."

"Well it happens, such is the perils of a night out," he spat.

This nicely rubbed me the wrong way. I put my cup on the table with a clunk.

"Shall I stop my yammering, give your little head a rest?" I said. "Let your foul mood simmer down?"

He simply looked up at me, his gaze a little softer. He then sighed and went on buttering his bread.

"I'm sorry, I had a rather hard night," he replied.

"That's plain as day," I said. "What happened? Were some of the party guests a bit too critical? Get some rough liquor? Did you have a bad shag?"

He threw his knife on the table and shot me a murderous glare. I looked at his knife then looked at him.

"I was bloody joking," I said with a small chuckle. "Jesus Christ, relax."

"Well, that's not very bleeding funny," he snapped. "Maybe it's a big damnable joke to you, but not to me."

We stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm sorry," I said with sincerity.

He pulled his glare away and sipped his own cup, emitting a hard sigh. He studied his tea for a moment then looked back at me.

"I met someone last night, someone you know quite well," he said.

I stared at him, feeling my body go numb.

"Who was it?" I asked darkly.

Hamish sighed hard again and looked to the side.

"Dear brother Jacob," he replied.

I fixed a blank stare on him, feeling sweat bead down my back.

"That's not a funny joke," I said as calmly as I could.

"If only I was joking," he replied, taking a mouthful of egg.

I rubbed my face with my hand and gave a loud groan, spitting out a curse and smacking the table. I saw Hamish nodding out of the corner of my eye. Goddamnit, please tell me I didn't hear what I thought I did. My stomach clenched a little harder and I could feel the sweat pouring down.

"Calm yourself, it wasn't as bad as you think," he said.

I threw my head back and sighed hard, taking a few more breaths to keep from screaming.

"Define 'not as bad as you think,'" I sputtered. "Did you have a drink and a few laughs with the arsehole?"

Another thought came to me that slightly calmed my nerves.

"He just happened to be there; not mentioning me at all right?" I said, feeling cautiously lighter. I let out a small chuckle. "Of course, you must have heard his name or he said some compliments in passing."

"Would you bloody listen to me for five seconds?" Hamish yelled.

I froze, staring at him blankly. He took a few breaths and looked a little calmer.

"We had just broke for a few minutes," he began. I knew I was in for a tale and indeed kept my trap shut. "The master of the house approached me and said there was a gentleman who wished to patronize my services for a future event. I was escorted into this side drawing room and there was a gentleman; well dressed, impeccable wig, just another well-to-do gentleman."

My stomach turned a bit more at the very thought of that bastard standing in front of my Hamish.

"He greets me with a handshake, all polite. He then starts out saying he is looking for a bit of information," Hamish went on. "He tells me his younger brother experienced a bit of misfortune and has not had the greatest relationship with the family, so he took off and hasn't been heard from since the summer. He tells me he heard a rumor someone who looked much like his brother was playing alongside me at a party."

I wanted to sink in my seat and just disappear. I rested my head in my hand waiting for the "wasn't as bad" part.

"He then gave me your name and a brief description. I did you a bloody favor, I said I knew of no such lad, his friend must be mistaken."

This did grate on me a little. He was doing me a bloody favor? He was doing his duty to me as a fucking friend. We had talked about this, and he's doing me a favor? I held my tongue; I still needed to hear the end of this story.

"He said he wasn't looking for any information on whereabouts or when you were last seen," Hamish continued. "He merely asked that should I ever see you, to pass along a message for him."

Hamish leaned a bit closer to me.

"He said he hopes you are doing well, he respects your wishes for distance and independence, but should you ever need any assistance you know how to reach him. He also gives you his wishes to, and I quote, 'stay on a good path.'"

I was frozen for a moment, finally giving a few profound eye blinks. Was this all real?

"He formally introduced himself to me and said he would be pleased for my skills at any future party, then sent me on my merry way."

I turned my head and exhaled; a stiff silence lingered.

"A little over five and a half feet in height, watery blue eyes…" I said.

"Neat ginger eyebrows, smelling of French cologne?" he responded, then nodded.

Hamish rose from the table and went into his wardrobe, rummaging through a pocket, then walking back over with something in his hand. He placed a white card on the table bearing a familiar design of a plow turning up soil in an idyllic cornfield.

"Sutcliff Agriculture, Ltd. Mr. Jacob P.J. Sutcliff, President. Manufacturer of tools for field and garden, the storage of fruits and vegetables, and the production of crops into food."

I had to look away from it for a moment. It was Jacob's card; I knew the sight of it well. How I never wanted to see or even have knowledge of any trace of him ever again. I knew deep down I would never entirely escape him, though perhaps he was indeed letting me off with a wave. "Stay on a good path." That told me everything.

I had no reason to doubt Hamish spoke true, it might explain his foul mood.

"I'm sorry you had occasion to meet him," I sighed. "This is exactly what I feared."

Hamish gave his own sigh, then shook his head.

"As I said, it wasn't all that bad," he said. "It was unnerving, I'll confess that. When he started speaking about you I felt my heart wander in my throat. I believe I was just as shocked at how it was left as you were, but it still ended how it did."

I nodded, rubbing the side of my face with my shaking hand.

"If he had graver business I doubt he would have left like that," I replied, hearing a quiver in my voice. "I'm sure this was his way of making his presence known, hopefully to announce his intentions to leave me the hell alone and have it over with. Though you were right, he knows of you already."

"Maybe just through his friend."

"Maybe, hopefully."

"Maybe you should take it for what it is, Grell. He's leaving you be, he's leaving me be, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. You know what he's capable of, then you know what this means. I'd rather leave it at that."

I took a deep breath and nodded. I could tell this whole experience frightened him and I could only sympathize.

Hamish continued to eat in silence; I managed to finish my eggs though I wondered how long I would hold them down. He then finished his meal and rose, collecting his plate then mine. His free hand gently rested on my shoulder and massaged the muscle. I rubbed the back of his hand, though my gaze was turned away.

"I'm sorry for being such a git," he sighed. "Here you do such a nice thing despite how sick you've been, and here I am huffing and snarling like an ill-tempered mule."

I looked up at him, seeing him looking down at me with a soft gaze. I could only look at him and smile.

"And this was not your fault, this was his bollocks," Hamish said, kneading my shoulder a little harder. "At least he let me off, at least he let you off too. What's done is done."

I nodded, gently leaning my head against his stomach. He ran a few fingers through my hair and kissed the top of my head. He felt warm and safe, a safety I truly needed right then.

Hamish cleaned the dishes, I did the pans. He finally did cool down and share a few stories from the pub the night before, all droll drunkenness. It certainly lightened the mood a bit. We later went out hunting for strings and did some window shopping. The air had a chill that pierced through me, though I found myself staying upright and alert. It became even more apparent that I was indeed feeling better. I tried not to think on it too much, though there was a warm glow in my being with the idea I finally could be free at last.

I tried not to think on Jacob. The thought that he actually approached Hamish frightened me, though I knew full well so much worse could have happened…or could it? Perhaps nothing ill would have happened, perhaps the worst Hamish would have gotten as a stern lecture. All this paranoia was doing me no good and would threaten to steal the happiness I had rightfully earned.

This should have been an occasion for celebration: Jacob spoke his peace knowing the message would get right back to me. The message was of nothing but glad tidings; I was free from the family at last, Jacob gave his blessings and his agreement. I tried to let that sink in, though a thousand misgivings kept it floating. Regardless Jacob knew full well where I was and with whom I associated and perhaps he was stepping back. This was a joyous occasion and I knew I would eventually realize that.

Hamish was playing at another home party that evening and I insisted on joining him. If I strayed in that bloody flat another moment I was going to start breaking things. It was another high end job, though I still had that wig and put on a bit of makeup to make a few of my features less obvious. By now I didn't give a damn about being found out. Jacob already knew I was taking these jobs, if he happened to be at this party let him come up to me himself. Perhaps I was beyond clawing his eyes out and could greet him like a civil man.

Hamish and I joined a few of his other musician friends at the lord's townhouse and practiced a little before the guests arrived. Oh God it felt so good to be doing this again; for once everything felt normal. We played at the party without incident. I found myself going for hours with no need for a break. The thought crossed my mind with every idle glance to another party guest that one of them might recognize me and report back to Jacob. Perhaps the family reputation wouldn't do so well with one member now essentially a servant. After a while, the thought put a smile to my face. Perhaps I was enjoying a bit of petty revenge. If someone in the conspiracy didn't care for my new livelihood, he was content to approach me and voice his concerns to my face.

The party turned to a drunken rabble late in the evening and the butler dismissed us with ample pay. We hit a few pubs in celebration, I downed a few drinks that were a bit stronger than cider and found my stomach much more cooperative. Hamish and I managed to stumble home and pass out, waking to see myself draped on the couch and Hamish right on the floor. We had a right laugh through our respective headaches. Later in the afternoon we were both still a little achy, though jovial about the whole thing.

It gradually dawned on me that I had felt more than fine throughout the day. I found myself blowing my nose a bit, but the sweating and chills were nigh gone. I was practically pacing around the flat to keep myself occupied. I ate like a hungry man and played my instrument unhindered. I was feeling better.

I had not had a drop since Christmas and here it was New Year's Eve and I was feeling rather decent. The thought quietly went through my mind; I was free from this. The thought was tempered with a thousand counterpoints; it was too early, what if the demon made itself known again? I gave my thoughts caution, though the flame burned brightly in my soul that perhaps this was it.

Hamish did ask me a few times how I was feeling. I could only reply I was feeling better. He responded with a smile and kissed me.

"Hopefully that poison is out of your blood, or making a swift exit," he said.

I nodded with a smile.

We managed to get a little practice time. It was New Year's Eve and we had another rather lavish party to play that night to celebrate the turning of 1779. Our employer was a rather rich banker with businessman friends. Thankfully it was not a name I recognized, though I endeavored not to care.

It was around 3 in the afternoon when a messenger brought a letter to our door. It was from Mr. Fields: the dress would be ready by the end of the week. He was asking for a good day and time to come over and do a fitting. Hamish and I read the letter like excited little boys. I wrapped my arms around him with a few excited giggles and he kissed me between smiles.

We promptly sent a letter back, essentially saying send us word when it is finished and we will make time for you. I was practically dancing around the flat or the rest of the afternoon, that was the best news I had heard in so long. I felt I was going to Mr. Henderson's gala New Year's party floating on a cloud. I was almost skipping there and Hamish tried to keep up with me, giggling all the way.

We spent the evening playing for this stuck up group of bankers and wives. It was one of the dullest New Year's gatherings I had ever seen, though perhaps that was a good thing. I doubted any masked men were going to break through the windows on the behest of some shady presence. A few times I almost wished such would happen, but it was just stiff dancing and bad jokes. I was content to be in the background, the man I loved playing alongside me.

After a few breaks and a few semi-sincere compliments, the master of the house at last announced it was close to midnight. Five minutes to the hour he counted down the minutes, then the final countdown of seconds to the hour itself. The clock chimed midnight, we played a celebratory tune, the servants tossed confetti around, everyone toasted to the birth of 1779. I appreciated the irony of where I was for this celebration compared to last year; for me this was a great triumph. I exchanged glances and smiles with Hamish as I played; what a wonderful start to a new year.

Less than an hour later our services were dismissed. At this party no one was getting drunk and silly, everyone was leaving early to open the bank tomorrow. We received a good amount of coin and left for home contented. We ended up staying up a bit later, breaking out a bottle of rum and having a little New Year's celebration of our own.

We toasted to more things than I can remember and eventually just knocked them back for sport. Soon clothes were tugged off and we had a clumsy yet brilliant lay right on the floor. We awoke with bare arses in the rug, though a shirt or a cravat still on, the rest of our clothes were scattered around the flat alongside some spilt glasses and some spilled substances of a more filthy nature. We had to laugh at how much of a mess we had left.

Later that evening we went to Lady Marigold's for a more formal New Year's celebration amongst a group of more agreeable lads and ladies. We did watch the carousing that night. Going out and getting silly had been a bit of a trend as of late, I think we both wanted a morning that did not include headaches.

Besides rehearsals started up again tomorrow morning for a round of shows Saturday through Sunday nights; getting the ball rolling again after the holiday break. I was looking forward to getting back in action. This week had been one of cleansing, now I wanted to return to normality. Hamish and I only imbibed a little and returned home fully upright, waking nice and early the next morning to go back to the theater.

The closer we got to the theater I grew giddier. At last we walked in and saw the familiar faces of our friends. We exchanged greetings, told some stories from the holidays, showed off a few gifts, then got right back to work on our lines. Colin gave us some well-wishes for the holiday and started everything right back up. All of us were a bit rusty after the week, though it did not take too long to get back in the swing.

I poured a lot into that rehearsal, feeling this excitement I had to hold back a little. By the end of rehearsal my energy was sapped, though perhaps such was to be expected given my state this past week. I went home nice and tired, feeling a bit more satisfied with a few accomplishments. The next afternoon I was back at the theater as usual and all the actors came back in for the first night back.

I found myself pacing around a bit more and occasionally tapping my feet, though no one seemed to notice. Waiting for my moment onstage was torture, I just wanted everything to happen right then. At last I was onstage and everything fell into place. My nerves calmed, though I still felt this high alertness. I was a bit more sensitive to every rustle in the audience, though I kept my attention forward. By intermission my nerves calmed a bit more and my alertness lowed bit.

In the end it was a most successful night. I practically ran onstage for curtain call, savoring the applause I had truly missed. We gathered at the pub later for a little night cap and some catching up after the break. There were more than a few toasts to the season, some singing of carols, some telling of tales. I do recall Hamish and I were dancing home later singing a few tunes and laughing at how ridiculous we sounded.

The next morning we were enjoying some tea to settle our aching heads when a messenger came to the door. Hamish took the envelope in to me with a knowing look. My heart leapt, I knew exactly who this was from. I snatched the envelope out of his hand and ripped it open, my heart pounded when I read the joyous news; the dress was ready for the first fitting. I squealed and hopped around the room, then threw my arms around Hamish; he giggled and hopped along with me.

We sent a message back immediately, inviting him over on Monday morning. I so wanted him over now, but there was work to do. I was restless throughout the day, though fixing some set flats took out some of my anxiety. Working with the costumes only made me long to feel lovely fabric over my skin.

The lady was dancing around in my mind, counting down the hours until we would see that dress for the first time. I politely informed her it was just a fitting, her dress was not going to be hers until it was all finished. She did not mind; she just wanted to see it, wear it once, and feel beautiful again.

Tomorrow I would be graceful princess, tonight I took my role as a regal prince with utter seriousness. I was the epitome of bravery and pride onstage that night; savoring my cape and sword and later taking my crown with noble pride. I would remove my costume later and ready myself to become beautiful, radiant, a lovely sight in red. For now I was clad in simple garments, though I savored the moments before my grand transformation. I barely slept that night, though in the middle of the night Hamish and I engaged in some bed exercises that would later have me sleeping like the dead.

We were enjoying some tea the next morning, I sat at the table and startling with every noise that sounded like steps through the hallway or a knock on the door. I was mildly annoyed when Hamish snickered at my expense every time this happened, though after a while I had to laugh at how antsy I was.

I had somewhat relaxed when a knock on the door made me scramble from my seat. I opened the door a crack to see lovely Mr. Fields standing there with a box in his hands. I threw open the door and bid him enter. Hamish closed the door behind him and we all greeted him with light cheek kisses.

He laid the box on the floor and opened it. I swore a chorus of angels sounded the moment I saw those red ruffles. I looked down at the garment with holy reverence, I went to my knees and took in its brilliance. Oh it was so beautiful; such detailed stitching, such soft material, I fell head over heels in love.

I slowly brought myself to a stand, but my legs were shaking so hard. Hamish came behind me and wrapped his arms around me, I gave him a kiss, wiping a few tears on his cheek. My voice only emitted some breathy thank you's, first to Hamish then to Mr. Fields. Mr. Fields took my hands and looked at me thoughtfully.

"Seeing a lady so happy is the best reward I could ever ask for," he said.

Soon I was stripped to my stockings, Mr. Fields gave me a nice new petticoat and a modest corset with a little padding in certain places. At last he lay out that piece of sheer beauty in front of me. He and Hamish helped get the garment over my head; the fabric was nice and soft. I tried to keep my gaze forward, slipping my arms through the sleeves by touch alone though my arms were shaking. At last they were through, Mr. Fields tightened the back strings. I still looked forward, I so wanted to look down but I wanted to wait until everything was in place for that final surprise.

Everything was in proper order, Mr. Fields stepped back and looked at me; Hamish gazed upon me with a huge grin. At last I turned towards the full mirror in the corner. I saw a vision of pure red; a slender waist, a modest bustline, a gorgeously full skirt, ruffles all over, thin wrists under billowing sleeves. I stared at myself in the mirror, my upper lip trembling and my breaths coming in sobs.

"I'm beautiful," my trembling lips muttered in gasping breath.

"You certainly are," Hamish said with a bright chuckle.

"Here here," Mr. Fields followed.

Mr. Fields then got to work, marking places, measuring here and there, tightening up some details. After an hour of work, he said he wanted to take the dress back to his shop and lift the hem a little. As much as the thought of parting with this beauty pained me, I understood the necessity. I slipped off the dress and out this precious back into the careful hands of her creator. He told me he would be back in just a few days; I trusted his judgment and saw him off with a pleasant wave.

That dress would be the topic of conversation for most of the day. Hamish complimented me highly for how I looked in it.

"When it's at last in your hands, you do know what we will have to do," he said, a little wry smile coming over his face.

I smiled right back. I knew exactly what he had in mind; it was something I had desired since our first moments at a certain illicit establishment.

The next couple days went by so long. Tuesday we played a few jobs, Wednesday it was back to rehearsal. The thought occasionally crossed my mind how long I had gone without a drop, though I tried not to think on it. It was best just to go along, enjoy the world without that poison in my veins. I was still a bit jumpy, some nights sleep did not come well, though the demon was gone and that was that.

Friday morning Mr. Fields returned with that beautiful box. I eagerly stripped down, donned the appropriate undergarments, and had that gorgeous collection of fabric slid over my body. It felt like a lover returning to my body, draping every curve, making me feel so wonderful. Mr. Fields checked the rest of the little areas, then did a final inspection of the hem. He spent an hour or so tucking in some places, but finally he stepped back and looked up and down his handiwork.

"I do believe my work is finished," he declared.

I locked him in a tight embrace, he embraced me right back. I wanted to thank him a thousand times for all his efforts, but my throat was locked. At last I lightly pulled away and kissed him on the cheek, giving him my heartfelt thanks. He simply bowed and kissed my hand.

"Anything for a lovely lady," he said.

Hamish gave him the final payment and his own appreciation. At last Mr. Fields left the flat with a wave of his handkerchief, wishing us all the best.

I warned Hamish that I intended to wear this until I had to go to the theater.

"You wear this whenever you wish," he replied, giving me a gentle kiss.

I did indeed wear it for the rest of the day. Until I had to leave for the theater, I was Hamish's ladylove. I served him tea, he would kiss my hand on occasion and compliment my beauty. I would talk about jewels and flowers, he would chuckle about the simplicities of the female; I would gently smack him and he would laugh.

Soon it was almost 1 and I had to get into my work clothes. I lamented having to take off that gorgeous gown, though duty called. I removed the garment, though hung it gently in my wardrobe. I could only stand and admire how openly it was stored. This beauty would not be shoved into a box and hidden away at the bottom of a trunk. This piece of art would be properly stored with nothing but pride.

At last I changed into my work clothes, a little disappointed at having to play industrious lord so soon, though it was a role I slipped back into with ease. Before I left, Hamish said he would take the lady out for a smashing evening. I left the flat with a beaming smile and skipped along to the theater.

I awaited the end of the evening with much eagerness. Keeping busy helped with my impatient giddiness, though fixing a few dresses in the wardrobe had me longing for my own lovely beauty. I happily played the noble prince that night, savoring how virile I was now and how I would be a beautiful lady for all to see later. We did curtain call, met with a few audience members in the lobby, then Hamish and I promptly retuned to the flat and put that gorgeous dress into a modest hand trunk.

Soon we were in front of a familiar door, I carried but a plain looking trunk like any traveler or tradesman. The doorman allowed us to enter; I could hear the singing and laughing from the ladies, knowing I would soon join them. I gave Hamish a quick kiss, saying, "see if you can find me later." Then I went in one of the back dressing rooms, a group of other ladies were getting their garments on.

They eyed me a little, then saw the dress. Soon I was their new little sister and the teased me like one too. A few ladies helped me get it on and tie it, some purposely pulling the strings too tight on purpose before slacking them with giggles. I heard "skinny slag" and "ginger bitch" a few times, I snapped back with a few of my own witticisms that conjured more than a few shrill laughs and looks of mock offense. The ladies did give me a few make-up tips, or "how not to look like a whore."

We would soon walk out; the other ladies would find their own men or the nearest man available. I walked right out into the room, a maiden making her proper debut. A few eyes went on me, gentlemen curtseyed before me, some asked me to dance and I could only accept. I then caught the eye of a certain handsome gentleman. He looked at me dancing in the arms of a blue velvet clad cad, then promptly slid in my direction.

Hamish looked at my partner.

"I'm sorry, I must steal this ravishing lady away from you," he said, holding out his hand.

I spun out of the arms of the gentleman and took Hamish's hands. Hamish leaned over and gave me a soft kiss.

"You look truly radiant," he said.

I simply smiled, following his lead as he spun me around the floor to the sound of violins. We danced around the room, occasionally greeting a few other guests; to everyone here I was indeed a lady and I was treated as such by the gentlemen. The lady took her man's hand and gazed into his eyes, feeling so beautiful and so loved.

That night I was truly the luckiest woman in the world.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I wanted to emphasize that just because it's 1779, that date itself has zero significance in this story and it does not necessarily mean everything ends this year. I say this because before the Will the Reaper OVA came out, a few screenshots came out with a hint that the story was placed in 1779. Well it turns out those screenshots reflected a huge animation oopsie; the story itself was in 1799 and it mistakenly listed Thomas Wallis' death year as 1779 (even though he was only 5-years-old in 1779). Still I have gotten comments assuming everything ends in 1779. I just wanted to clarify that 1779 does not have any significance other than what will be happening in the story itself and this story does not follow canon to the letter. If this strictly followed canon Grell would be 40 when he died and (little hint) he's not going to live that long.

This chapter is going to be a plot pivot point. I might take a small break to get my story points and muses back together, so it could be a little while before this story updates again.


	55. Part 55

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 55**

The demon was gone.

The prince would put on his best clothes and act out his revenge every night in front of a few hundred adoring fans. They would approach him later, voices dripping with admiration for his great talents. He could move the masses to tears or raging anger with just a few words.

At times a gorgeous dress would slip over a slender body, fair face brightening with just a few touches of lipstick and rouge. The lady would emerge from the back room of a molly house to greet her suitor and chit chat with all the other lords and ladies in the room. Or the lady would hold tea for her love in the parlor (or the kitchen area in the middle of the flat). She would be the picture of manners and grace, though a bit of gossip and a few social snips were thrown in.

Other times a young man would join the party. He was friendly, witty, creative, romantic, a bit handsome too. He wasn't exactly a welcome guest though; his ill temper and jumpiness just put a damper on the fun. When he was around he would snip at anyone who looked at him cross-eyed, whether stranger or friend or lover.

At the theater the prince would step in for him, be polite where the boy was sneering; be regal when he was crass. At home the lady would step in and replace his moodiness with charm. Either one would just feel the tension in his voice and his readiness to leap on someone he would regret leaping on. They would place a gentle hand on his shoulder and just say, "It's all right, love, you take a rest. We know you've been through hell. It's best that you relax for a while."

It was a nice arrangement. The Prince or the Lady could politely apologize for any rudeness, whip up a story about being tired or not eating properly, and all would be forgotten. After a while there would be a few words of "Try to sleep better" or "Too many heavy meats can wreak havoc on everything." There would be a few reassuring pats on the shoulder, though the glances after a while tensed a bit more and the reassuring words were delivered with less comfort.

Every tight word and sideways glance was wounding, though were taken for what they were worth. They were delivered by concerned friends who proved their loyalty. There was still the fear their loyalty would only last through so much. The young man himself willingly acquiesced to the polite nudges from the Lady and the Prince to step back. He knew he was causing problems; he had caused so many before. Now he was trying to change but he was raw, his nerves were frayed.

The Demon was gone, but it ripped its way out and took a pound of flesh with it. I was trying to savor the freedom, I had my victory at last. I told myself this over and over to keep from screaming at Elias for taking a second look at my pegs or swat George across the face with my foil when he missed a step. It would make me bite my lip to bleeding when Hamish announced any last minute jobs or took jabs at my tuning.

I would take a few breaths and let the Prince or the Lady take over. They could handle reality so much better even if they were simply masks I put on. Perhaps they were my real face. Perhaps this false face of a surly young man was rotting off at last. This mask I had worn my whole life was now unnecessary; there were no airs to maintain or posturing to do. I was surrounded by people I loved dearly who I could be myself around. Perhaps the skittish young kid needed to die at last. Perhaps I was becoming whoever I truly was. Maybe the young man was dying, maybe I should just let him rot away; bury him under a nice rug and let the Lady and the Prince dance over his corpse.

I held onto this thought as well; my ill temper was just my false self dying at last. These words would join a few glasses of rum or gin here and there to numb my nerves a little. This wasn't to get drunk, I told myself repeatedly, this was just enough to make me feel less skittish. I would allow myself this little bit, then from time to time Hamish and I would go out for a bit of carousing and fun, returning home silly and happy.

In February the thought crossed my mind that I would no longer be a handsome prince onstage. "Macbeth" was ending in just a few weeks and Colin would soon announce the Spring comedy. The Prince said he didn't care; regality needed no formal role or title. His nobility certainly needed no stage on which to act, it needed to simply go forth in the world.

I still wanted to indulge him a little; the Prince didn't need to exist solely for stage, though he thrived on the attention. It was a Sunday when Colin showed us the next play: "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Right away I knew what role I wanted; one that would be a lovely physical challenge, a character that I could play as wildly yet gracefully as I could. I told Hamish my plans and he merrily slapped his knee.

"You know you're a bit like Puck," he said. "Just saying you want to play Puck will be enough to get it for you. I guarantee."

Nothing was ever guaranteed of course, so I worked hard. Preparing the part was a nice distraction; I poured over the book, even rehearsing a little blocking. Hamish was reading for Oberon, probably to have some more quality stage time with me.

Hamish and I helped each other with lines, usually over a few glasses. We would get in quite a bit of work until it melted into joking around and a bit of giggles, sometimes a drunken lay.

By the day of auditions I was most ready for this. I got right up and recited my monologue by heart, getting a little bit of jumping and dancing just like the merry sprite. I savored the smiles on everyone's faces as I did this. At the end I got a lovely round of applause, including a few wide-armed claps from Colin.

One of the newer boys Peter also read for Puck, though I knew this was my part. Peter was a bit too stiff, he didn't put any passion into it. A few days later Peter was announced for Lysander. Good on him. As for me, I was indeed proclaimed as Puck. I tried not to laugh too hard when Colin announced the good word.

Dear Hamish was granted the role of Oberon. I politely clapped with everyone else at the announcement, though I was most excited. We would have more scenes together; after all he was playing my master. We would lean in each other's faces for conversation and there would be some pats on the shoulder and clasping of arms. The audience would see two lovers restrained though they would only think on us as actors. Perhaps it would be an interesting challenge to make sure that was all they would see.

We toasted to the new show and our new roles later that night. Hamish and I did a little more celebrating than everyone else. I only remember we were leaning on each other pretty heavily and I felt delightful. Everything else was blank. My senses returned to the pierce of searing daylight. My head was screaming but I managed to lift it to give some groggy notice to my surroundings. I could decipher I was in a small room, likely in the tavern. I hazily looked around the simple wood walls, one thing feeling greatly amiss.

I must have been rather out of sorts to not notice it immediately though the realization slowly descended on me with another wave of aches; I was alone here. There was no sign of Hamish at all. I didn't think too much on why my love wasn't in the same room with me, my head wasn't allowing me too much thought through I certainly was not overly concerned. After a few more minutes I then looked to the side table to see a piece of paper there. I picked it up and read, "Hamish is in Room 3 across the hall" roughly scribbled on the tear of paper. Looks like he was deposited in his own box for the night.

A little while later, as my senses were slowly returning, there was a knock on my door. I managed to rise from the bed and hobble over to the door, slowly opening it a crack. Who should I see standing right there, complexion a pretty shade of green? I smiled and let Hamish in the room; he walked in and closed the door behind him.

Hamish lifted a piece of paper before my face: "Grell is in Room 10 across the hall." I pointed at the lovely note I received.

"Did we both get solitary confinement?" Hamish chuckled, his voice a little hoarse for understandable reasons.

I snickered, putting another stab of pain through my head that I winced from for a moment before laughing again.

"Just what the hell did we do last night?" I laughed. I lightly touched Hamish's face, not seeing any bruises or blood anywhere. "I don't think I punched you, at least I can't see anything."

"Same here," he said, his hand caressing down my face. "Maybe we were too rowdy together."

He leaned into my face and nibbled at my face like a puppy with little growling sounds. I broke out into a fit of giggles that pierced through my aching head again.

When we were both feeling a bit better, we went downstairs to pay the innkeeper and make for home. The boy at the desk told us the rooms were already paid for; a friend named Colin wanted to see us taken care of. We both chuckled a little at his generosity. I did throw the kid a couple coins for an excellent service, then we went about our merry way.

It was a quick walk back to our flat, though it felt much longer given the state of our heads and stomachs. There was little conversation between us save for a few words. When we returned home Hamish cooked up some eggs and we both had a little ale to soothe the aches a bit. I sat on the couch and watched him, making a bit of light chatter though he wasn't responding back. As he plated our eggs I noticed this thick scowl on his face and the way he practically dropped the pan on the table before heaving in his chair.

We ate in silence, Hamish looked to be in an ill mood and I would rather eat my food in peace. Finally he spoke between mouthfuls.

"Colin put us up in those rooms for the night," Hamish said, wiping his lips with his napkin.

I simply shrugged

"It was rather generous, we must have been pretty pissed last night," I replied.

"Pissed enough to pull us in separate rooms?" he softly growled. "Two flatmates? No, two filthy nancies he doesn't want buggering."

My brows furrowed as I took another bite. Hamish's tone irked me a little, though it did raise an interesting point.

"I thought you said he was all right with that sort of thing?" I asked.

"I thought so too, but guess where we wake up. Separate bloody rooms."

I didn't know what to say. I knew what Hamish was getting at, though the idea wasn't bothering me as much as it was he. I searched my hazy brain trying to recall what did happen last night, getting a few recollections of leaning on Hamish a bit through the night. Perhaps that was it.

"Now that I think about it, I do remember we were getting a little cuddly," I said. "Perhaps we were getting a bit obvious in front of everyone."

My chest tightened a little with the thought, maybe we revealed a little too much. One breath later I shrugged and went back to my breakfast. The thought bothered me, though there was no point in fear. We were drunk as hell last night, I've seen people do sillier things and I'm sure everyone else has too. Even if anyone got any sort of hint, it was among our theater friends. If they could accept every other member of humanity excepting mollies, then I counted them as hypocrites. Apparently Colin had dealt with his fair share of men like us and Hamish insisted he paid the topic no mind. Though what if two men who were like sons to him were being a bit too obvious in front of potentially hostile company?

"He could have done it to protect us," I said.

Hamish let out a sarcastic cackle that irritated me a little.

"No joke, he could have seen us getting ready to start rubbing pricks any minute right out in public and did something," I said, my voice raising slightly.

"Yeah because we need a fucking nursemaid," Hamish retorted. "He needs to hover over us making sure we do nothing inappropriate."

"Lest someone see it and run to the watch, 'I saw these two men snogging in a bar, we might have a case of partners in sodomy, keep an eye out.'"

"Oh God, are you paranoid! You know how many people actually get caught for that? You know how many less people are looking for it? For Christ's sake, relax!"

I rolled my eyes and took another long sip from my pint. Hamish gobbled down another few forkfuls; I could hear him taking deep breaths to calm down.

"No, I understand," he started.

I took another bite but I didn't want to look at him. Just what the fuck did he understand?

"You're young, not to mention you've been holed away so long," Hamish went on. "Let me educate you on how things work. You've been given so many sermons and so many spiritual flagellations against unnaturality that you fear to be yourself."

I stared daggers into him. So he knew all about me did he?

"The law is so inept and what we're doing is hardly the ultimate public scourge," Hamish continued. "Blighters like us rarely get their necks stretched and anytime it does happen it's the result of some sudden morality sweep to send a message, and we always get the word a day before the guard sweeps in. No one gives a toss about two silly drunk boys doing a bit of lapel pawing. Colin sure as hell has seen me do my share. He's seen this for years and now he's jumping on his moral horse."

"Oh yeah because he understands totally you are so much more knowledgeable and so much more careful when it comes to matters of the male flesh," I groaned.

"And I'm sure Colin told you all about it, didn't he? Oh God this is just getting clearer isn't it." Hamish gave a grating chuckle, his voice raising. "He doesn't approve of us. He doesn't give a shit about seeing me stroking pricks with some other impure bastard but oh not his pristine little boy. God forbid his little angel becomes impure. You should feel lucky you're so protected by such a valiant knight."

I felt my hand swipe across the table and smack across Hamish's face with a loud slap. My hand landed on the table, trembling. I looked up, Hamish gazed at me with wild eyes, a red mark forming on his cheek, lips trembling and hard angry breaths coming from him. I stared back at him, oh how beautiful he looked in this moment.

A little burning flicker of regret burned in my chest. Why the hell did I do that? That flicker gradually burned out.

"Don't ever speak to me or of me like that again," I growled.

He just stared at me, gobsmacked. My gaze did not leave him for one second; I barely even blinked. He looked away and took a few exasperated breaths.

"I apologize," he said with a trembling sigh. "I was being rather rude."

"Yes you were," I replied darkly. "Have your suspicions about Colin, that's your business. Do not ever talk to me like I am a fucking child. I ask for nothing more than simple respect; I believe I have earned it. You have always given it to me, I sincerely hope that was not a ruse."

Hamish shook his head, his gaze still on the side of the room.

"It was ill temper, nothing more," he said, his voice shaking. "The last thing I want is to lose your trust, hence much of my crossness for Colin."

"It just takes a few words to piss trust away and I didn't just hear Colin's voice. You want to hold my trust, then watch your bleeding tongue. I don't take kindly to disrespect."

Hamish turned his head toward me and he planted a tired gaze upon me. I simply stared at him, expression even but deadly serious. His upper lip curled slightly as he nodded. I nodded back and went back to my eggs. We sat in silence for a moment, then he threw down his fork, rose, collected his coat and bag, and opened the door. He didn't say a word, I didn't say a word, I just watched as he walked out of the flat and carefully closed the door behind him.

After an hour my chest ached with worry, my mind slapping me just as hard as I slapped Hamish. What the bloody hell did I just do? Look at me, I've gone and ruined another wonderful thing in my life. I did try to push away the thought that this was yet another "wonderful" thing that was rotted from the beginning.

By the second hour I was in this odd state of worry-tinged calm. I stoked the flames of remorse though they never went above a flicker. Let him never show up, let him run to the arms of a mistress, perhaps I needed my answer. I simply cleaned the pans, tidied up a bit around the flat, even did a little practicing.

It was nearing the third hour when I heard the door creak open and a set of keys tossed on the coffee table. I looked over from my chair, seeing Hamish walk back into the flat and close the door behind him. I looked up at him for a moment, we locked eyes. Something then brought me up from my chair and caused my arms to wrap around him.

My mouth repeated soft apologies over and over, a small flicker in my being ached from not being embraced back. Then I felt his arms slowly close around me and his nose nuzzle my head.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," he whispered tensely into my ear.

I nodded into his chest, feeling a tear stream down my cheek on cue.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered again.

He ran his fingers through my hair and kissed the top of my head. His hands gently took hold of the side of my head and lifted my face to him.

"Mutual respect is vital," he said. "We cannot lose that, otherwise we lose everything."

"Agreed," I replied with a nod.

The air gradually cleared, we spoke a bit more freely, then we went to a job that night all smiles and happiness. We would retire to bed, make beautiful love, and drift to sleep in peace.

All was well between us. No one cared to bring up the topic again, neither of us spoke of Colin either. I was slightly wary of what might happen on Wednesday when Hamish saw Colin again. I didn't say anything about it; I figured I would leave him to his own devices. The last thing I really wanted was another fight.

Wednesday I went in early as usual, later approaching Colin in private and thanking him for the arrangements. He gave me this somber smile and nodded.

"All I want is for you boys to take care of yourselves," he replied, placing a hand on my shoulder.

He gave me a soft, yet pointed look. His lips were still in a kind smile, yet his words spoke the rest spoke everything else he did not dare voice. I smiled and nodded back.

"I appreciate your concern," I said.

"I can't help but care about you lads, it's my downfall."

He patted my shoulder and we went back to our respective happy businesses.

Hamish came in with the rest of the crowd later that night. Everything was peaceful, Hamish and Colin got on fine through rehearsals, though I swore I saw Hamish giving Colin these little sideways glances all night. We had a small break when Colin walked up to Hamish and asked if he was taking care of himself.

"I'm taking care of myself just fine, thank you," he replied pointedly, then looked down at his script like Colin wasn't even there.

Colin nodded then simply walked away with a stiff smile. They continued speaking as normal for the rest of the night though there was no idle chitchat as I had seen. At the end of rehearsal Hamish told me he was simply going home, I followed close behind.

This remained the routine; Hamish and Colin were cordial, though I did not see any warmth from Hamish when Colin was around. The next time everyone went to the pub, he politely declined and went home. This time I did stick around with all the louts; let Hamish have his grudge. Thankfully no one asked about him or even made mention of his absence. I did have a few less drinks and just enjoyed company; drunkenness always lead to trouble.

Such was how it remained through the last week of "Macbeth." Everything was personable and civil, though I did not see any warmth between the two. At home Hamish and I only mentioned Colin in passing. I made a point to avoid speaking of him; Hamish gave me the same courtesy.

At last we gathered for the final night of this wonderful show. I was a little sentimental going into this evening, though I was determined to give the absolute best performance. Everyone was perfect that night, everyone put in that last bit extra to round out a magnificent run. I savored every bit of time on that stage. Every moment was that final kick in the bits to the Chamberlain Society. I was here as Malcolm amidst a group of truly talented performers who respected each other and truly respected this wonderful play.

At last George came in with the sack in one hand and the crown in the other, at last my rightful crown was upon my brow. The Prince shined in glory, my final lines delivered like smooth gold. The curtain closed, the audience went wild, and we all ran backstage with pounding hearts and giddy smiles.

Soon we all went back onstage for the final curtain call. The Prince walked out regally, bowing with grace and soaking in all the adoration from his subjects. All gathered onstage, we linked hands and bowed, the applause like a gale of happiness raising our spirits.

We practically ran from the stage to the lobby to greet the audience. So many people heaped admiration upon us for our performances. When the last audience members were gone, when we finally fought off the giggles and hugs and removed our costumes, we did gather at the pub to celebrate. Hamish even joined us, perhaps it was in the spirit of celebration or perhaps he was feeling a little less grumpy.

We toasted to a successful run, I even got a few toasts for my performance.

"You did well for yourself, even though we know you had your heart set on Fleance or Macduff's son," Colin chided.

I raised my glass to this with uncontrollable giggles.

We toasted to the upcoming production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and overall to friends and good times. It was a light, fun night of friends. I made a point to go easy on the drinks, I didn't see Hamish knocking them back either. I did notice Hamish was staying a few feet away from me, however he was chatting cordially with Colin which was nice to see.

Just when I thought everything would stay normal, Hamish then bid all of us adieu after an hour. He told me across the table he as going home, then waved and left. I waved back and just left him to his own devices. Perhaps this was good progress. I just stayed around. I would leave there a few hours later feeling nice and relaxed but in perfect control.

I arrived at the building of our flat, then walked down the hall and heard the faint sounds of someone having a grand gathering. I listened for a second in the hallway to hear where it was coming from. The yells and music got louder the closer I came to my door. I raised my brows a little, it sounded as if Hamish invited some friends over. I didn't mind all that much, though I was mildly annoyed. I was tired and not at all interested in carousing. All I wanted was a nice quiet evening at home, but perhaps Hamish needed his own celebration.

I turned the key and opened the door, entering to see about seven people strewn about the apartment. Most were lads, some had ladies on their arms. I recognized a few of them, though more were strangers to me. Everyone was soused; you could hear it in the voices and in the clumsy notes on their guitars and fiddles. Bottles were propped on the tables and everyone had a glass or bottle in hand. A few saw me enter and greeted me with huzzah's, other just looked at me and went back to their drinking.

Then there was one cheeky sod: "Oh Hamish, your wife's here!"

I laughed along with everyone else, though there was something about this drunkard's tone that irritated me. Hamish was dancing around like a monkey on a leash, swigging from a bottle of wine. He was so pissed he was wobbling all over the place. Eventually he noticed me coming and stumbled over, kissing me on the cheek.

"Hello, darling, welcome to the feast hall," he slurred.

Everyone cheered, some stumbling over their feet.

I had a few pints and a few swings from a wine bottle, making a game of trying to decipher all the slurring. The attempts at singing were amusing, but the rest got old rather quickly. My energy waned fast as did my patience with everyone in the room. The more knackered I grew the more obnoxious everyone else became; it was starting to wear on my nerves.

At one point Hamish walked up to me, breath reeking of booze, and started sniffing my hair. I found this somewhat amusing, even petting him on the head like a kitten.

"Better be careful, Hammy, the wife's looking pissed," someone said.

Some gave out "ooh's" in response. I just smiled. Well the "wife" wasn't before, now is a different story.

"Oh 'scuse me, miss, don't mean to offend," another said.

I felt a cork bounce off my leg. I stood still, my smile my crutch and my fists carefully clenching.

"No, she's an understanding wench," Hamish said, standing behind me and hugging me around the midsection. "Get a woman who understands you, lads, you'll be a happy man."

Everyone laughed and toasted to this. I kept my smile and took a hard swig. My fist yearned to meet his face though I pressed it against my side. I looked out at this group of wankers and wondered what that drunken laughter would sound like in the form of screams. What if all of them were to start drooling blood, eyes rolling in the back of their heads as they dropped into violent shaking. I wonder what I could add to their drinks to make my wish come true.

"Just need to get her to clean and I'll be a happy man," Hamish slurred.

All the arseholes raised their glasses to this. A few calls went out of "Make yourself useful, darling!" A few boots were tossed in my direction. All it would take was a heel at the right angle to break a skull. I lifted up one of the boots and threw it at a random tosser, somehow he managed to bat it away and everyone had a nice laugh. I heard Hamish guffawing behind me. I looked back to see his eyes closed and face locked in a gaping laugh. I wanted to wrap my hands around his jaw and snap it. I clutched my glass hard, imagining the feeling of breaking it against the shelf and shoving the pieces down his throat. My hand shook around the glass, I lifted it up and located the shelf, though I held my wrist firm.

Hamish stumbled a bit behind me, I yanked myself forward as he fell to the ground. Maybe I was lucky and he cracked his skull or broke his neck. Alas I heard his drunken laughter from the floor. I looked down and didn't even see any blood. It was a bit disappointing. I he was still guffawing and put his hand up. I smacked it away and turned back around, walking away. This was met with a few "ooh's" but the children's attention was firmly on Hamish and remained so.

I stuck around for a few minutes longer, watching as Hamish settled into a chair and sank deeper, chuckling about something in his mind that amused him. My muscles were so stiff from holding back my fists or refraining from picking up a kitchen knife or a piece of broken glass and ending someone. I knew I would regret staying here, not just because of the company but also the chance one or multiple persons would end up in a pool of blood.

I quietly picked up a few sundries, seeing everyone by now was too drunk to notice or passed out entirely. I left the flat a little hazy, but still on my feet enough to charge out into the street.

Enough walking in the cold, damp air returned my senses to me. I have no idea how long I walked; time was buried in my mind under a fog of seething rage. All I could think on was how my home was invaded, my lover was being an arsehole, I was essentially insulted. Who the hell were even half of those twats? The thoughts pulsed through my mind with every beat of my heart. I avoided eye contact with anyone on the street lest their mere existences became motive to get bloodied up.

I heard the bells chime a single tone for 1 o'clock in the morning. My legs hurt, my head was aching, and my gut was twisted, but my rage cooled to wisping smoke. I considered going back, though I had no clue what I would return to. Everything would be better if I stayed out of the flat for the night. I eventually found an inn and got myself a tiny room, though sleep did not come easily to me. I believe the clock said quarter to two when I finally drifted off.

Dawn woke me through the flimsy curtains. The clock on the wall read half past 8, though I was in no mood to get up. I was in even less of a mood to go back home, what the hell might I find there? Perhaps I would find my dress covered in urine, or maybe a few instruments would be missing. My brain recalled that evening in Oxford when my eighteenth birthday gift was picked from my pocket. The thought sent me to my feet, I pulled on my clothes and grabbed my items. Then I left the room and paid the clerk, beginning my march back to the flat.

If anything was out of place I was going to break Hamish's fucking neck. If anyone was passed out with any of my things in hand, said hand was getting chopped off and shoved up someone's arse. The calm part of my being tried to talk me down from raging anger, though any internal pleas were falling on deaf internal ears. I even shoved a few passer's by out of my way, savoring the rude remarks I received in return.

I arrived at the building, practically ran inside, and approached the door. I made myself stop for a moment and breathe, clenching my fists at my sides. I knew I truly did not wish to murder anyone, doing this now would be immensely bad for me. Instead I breathed deeply and listened for whatever sounds were behind the door to know what I was walking into. I heard nothing. Not one breath, not one rustle. Perhaps everyone was sleeping. I shoved my key in the lock and slammed the door open. If anyone was still around they were getting woken up.

I looked inside to see no one around. My heart pounded, though the puzzle settled my mind enough to make me take in my surroundings. I closed the door and took a better look. Everyone was gone, all of the bottles and glasses had been cleaned up as well. I stood perplexed, everything was neat and tidy.

I looked up and then caught Hamish's gaze. He stood by the fireplace, staring at me with a hollow expression. I looked back at him, then back around the room.

"Where's your mates," I said, throwing my bag on the floor.

"Gone," Hamish said. "I threw all of them out an hour ago."

I furrowed my brows. Hamish approached me, I could see his lower lip drooping a bit. He had the usual greenish tinge and red rimmed eyes of someone who had a rough night. His step toward me looked a little labored.

"I'm sorry Grell, I made such a mess last night," he sighed, putting his hand on his forehead. I saw him wince a little, it was a beautiful sight. "I ran into a few old mates at another pub, the next thing I knew a whole horde was strewn around the room."

I stared hard at him, then nodded with a sneer. I rushed off to the wardrobe, yanking the doors open. Nothing was disturbed, nothing was missing, everything was in its place and in perfect condition. I gave my gown a relieved caress, then moved along to my bureau. As before, everything was in place.

"I doubt these are the thieving type," Hamish muttered.

"How the hell do I know that, I had no idea who half those buggers were you let into our house," I replied.

Hamish put his head down and smiled, then nodded.

"You can tell those twats the wifey is indeed a paranoid bitch," I sneered. "Tell them she is indeed a tight-cunted slag who can't have a little fun. I'm sure you were going on about that all night."

The way Hamish's visage tightened in pain sent happy chills through my body. I expected him to come up with another lovely excuse, instead he sighed hard and grimaced.

"I'm sorry about that too," he said.

He faced me directly, then took my hand. I slapped it hard away from me, Hamish bowed his head and took a few hard breaths.

"Do you recall what I said about respect?" I hissed. "I'll be your lady, Hamish, but I won't be taken for a mantrap or your whore."

"And you shouldn't be," he said. "It's just…" He breathed a heaving sigh. I wasn't too fond of the brief silence. "You're the first one I've ever lived with. You're the first one I've been with this long."

The tone of his voice grated on me by the second. It sounded as if he was reasoning something out with himself. Perhaps this was my paranoid mind reading the air, though that thought did not relax me at all.

"Seeing this whole set-up for those louts is alien to them and they got a little rude," he finished.

"So am I your ball and chain? Is that what I am to you?" I asked with a hint of incredulity. "We're partners, Hamish! Mutual living space, mutual respect, I thought that's what we had. If that's somehow oppressive to you, then I'll get my shit out now and liberate you of my presence!"

"That's not how I see you, Grell," Hamish insisted, though perhaps my paranoia lead me to hear a waver in his voice. "I see you as a partner, as someone I want to live alongside, to be faithful to for once in my life."

Somehow the word "faithful" stuck at me like a thistle sticking in my flesh.

"Am I your partner or am I your redemption?" I asked. "Are you with me to cleanse your sins? Well find a fucking priest to do that, you've got the wrong guy."

Hamish hung his head down, then gradually brought it back up; mouth completely shut. I wasn't liking his silence too much.

"Perhaps redemption in the form of human decency," he replied at last.

He took a few steps closer to me. I allowed the proximity, though I stood stone still with my arms folded.

"I have indeed used people, that I have told you," he said. "I wanted to finally appreciate someone."

"And I have never had any interest in trapping anybody," I replied. "You stay with me, you respect me, that's all I ask. I thought I made myself clear once before. Go out and get drunk, stick your prick in fifty whores or fifty actors…"

"Grell I would never!" he snapped. "I thought I made myself clear about that before."

I stood and stared at him. So he was snapping at his defense on this again? Someone has a guilty conscience. I wondered whether this was present or past tense, though perhaps it didn't matter. His defensiveness on the topic was rather grating, though perhaps not for the reasons it should have been. I should have ended the conversation here, but this whole thing just bothered me.

"If you would allow me to finish," I said in a matter of fact, yet steadily rising tone. "I would have ended my sentence with 'I don't give a toss.' And I mean that sincerely."

Hamish stared at me, his brows furrowed and his mouth slightly gaping open.

"Enough with the sarcasm, Grell," he breathed.

"Hamish, what did I say?" I said. "I said I don't bloody care. I'm not taking a piss, I'm not passively judging, I'm telling you the truth. That's how much that doesn't mean to me."

The way he stared at me reminded me of a confused dog.

"Loyalty, trust, affection, that's my currency," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "Sex is not a blessed sacrament to me. It's not nuptial consummation, it is not a test of loyalty, it's dirty parts against dirty parts. You're not in the business of serious vows, neither am I, and I thought I told you that once."

"I thought we wanted something different," Hamish replied, voice with an audible shake.

"I did; I wanted something devoted, stable, respectful, I wanted a partner in life not just in bed," I declared, my own voice cracking. "That's why we waited before clothes came off. I didn't want something cheap and I still don't. If you shag whoever or how many ever and come back to me at the end of the day, then I know you're with me. Never return to me, then I know you're not; it's that clear. If you forsake others yet treat me like some chore, then it all means nothing. Stop holding me to some sort of sacred fucking ideal that means absolute rot to me."

I breathed hard to keep tears at bay. Hamish gave a pained sigh and looked to the side. He stood in silence, face hard with some sort of sorrow, though I didn't know if I wanted to guess what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, Grell," he sighed. "I make this grand show of honoring you, though perhaps it was myself I was thinking on first. That was wrong. I need you to set me right."

I stared at him, then raised a hand and placed it gently on his cheek.

"Apology accepted," I said. "I cannot guaratee I'll be so tolerant from here on."

"You shouldn't, and it won't," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders.

I gazed in his eyes. I had no idea if that was sincere, though I was prepared to take him at his word. If he went against that, then he would be held accountable.

"And for God's sake tell me when you're going to have company over," I said. "I may want to play hostess."

He let out this clearing chuckle that turned my frown into a smile.

"Maybe we'll get Mr. Fields to make you a nice hosting dress," he said.

"That would be lovely," I replied.

I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. He took my hands and looked in my eyes.

"And I do want to be with you, and I will respect you, you have my word," he said. "Some grievous things were said the other evening and I apologize for all of them. I do not nor have I ever seen you as a chore."

I simply smiled, recalling a few things that came out of his mouth the other night. Whether he remembered any of them was a different matter, though an apology was an apology.

"I'll take you at your word, though please don't disappoint me," I said, kissing his fingers.

"Though would you really not want to murder me for being in intimate company with someone who wasn't you?" he asked, rubbing my wrists.

I thought about it for a moment.

"I would be more bothered by you avoiding me than you being with someone else, that's the God's honest truth," I replied.

"Truly?"

Somehow I found this question most curious.

"Yes," I said. May as well test these waters. "Why, you having any fun I might want to get in on?"

I expected another defensive declaration, though he just laughed.

"My fun is right here, and I mean that sincerely," he said, leaning in and kissing me.

That could have meant anything, but it was a good start.

"I'll take you at you word," I replied, licking his earlobe.

I would end up helping him with the cleaning. He would then lay me in bed and repay his sins with his tongue and cock. I accepted his apology with some hard grunts. We laid together in bed for a while, savoring each other's warmth.

I knew this was the man I wanted to be with. I knew now he was far from perfect, I knew he had flaws, though I was content with the whole package. I didn't want to be away from him, though perhaps the idea of it didn't exactly scare me.


	56. Part 56

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 56**

From that moment on, there seemed to be an unwritten rule established for the both of us to throttle our respective carousing habits. We went from hitting the pubs most nights to spending most nights at home. Bottles remained in cupboards and Hamish came up with a few creative tea blends.

This was not an unpleasant change, though I always sensed a hint of sobered tension underneath all our quiet evenings in the flat. Hamish's tone warmed a bit more, soon he was back to his usual loving-mate self. Deep down this made me a little uneasy. I tried to bat away all of my unrest, though there was a small pit of me that was on edge.

I had been so used to him being so loving and nurturing. The past few weeks I had a rather intimate view of his wanker side, though now everything was back to the way it had been. I suppose he proved himself imperfect; imperfect was genuine, hence Hamish proved himself to be truly genuine. This was my explanation to myself and I was satisfied with that to an extent.

Occasionally there would be a little snipping over something small, but it would be resolved in a moment. All of this was natural, I supposed; arguments happen, not all will be impeccable. I was unaccustomed to arguments that did not turn verbally or physically violent, I counted this situation an approach to a normality I desperately needed.

This thought lowered my hackles at the theater as well. I did not count the occasional strained tone or snapping over a missed line or a missed cue to be monumental and it was a good feeling. This was how I processed all of Colin's instructions, especially his directions for me to tone down my running and jumping. They annoyed me, yes, and yes I would roll my eyes every time he stopped me though I took all his directions for what they were worth.

He wanted a good performance, he did not want frivolous silliness especially from a minor character. I took this into consideration, though every moment of prancing and posing was pure bliss to me. I loved this role so much, I sunk all my energy into perfecting everything about Puck. I wanted to transform myself into Robin Goodfellow; I wanted to be this charming, yet virile sprite. All of my anger, all of my tenseness, all of my passion went into this role.

In turn, Hamish was working hard to make himself this strong fairy king. He was sinking himself into his work as I was. We would spend evenings reading over our lines and going over our blocking, perfecting all the scenes we had together. I knew this was an infinitely better activity than getting soused and getting into fights.

We would go into rehearsal and take notes on all the new ideas Colin had for us, even contributing some of our own. Colin was open to our ideas, more often than not he would laud them as brilliance. Other times he would give a little grimace and bat them off with logic for his vision. There was little protest, I know I understood why not all our ideas would work and Hamish told me he felt the same way.

Hamish and Colin remained friendly with each other. Gradually Hamish's wall slowly melted and he and Colin were lightly chatting again. I had a feeling Hamish let the whole matter of potential disapproval go. I couldn't imagine him addressing his concerns directly and it would probably have been unwise to do so.

As we dedicated ourselves wholly to this production, we still had a healthy selection of playing jobs to do. We were becoming a little more in demand, which was especially fortunate as it was the off-season. Our pockets were nicely lined and we had little to want.

Occasionally we were joined by some of our fellows and had lovely ensembles. Sometimes Hamish would go off in a corner with the others as I tidied up, I figured these guys were old friends sharing a few private words. It did cross my mind a few times if Hamish was snipping about "the wife," though I figured if I wasn't hearing anything it wasn't a concern.

Quiet nights at home meant Hamish wasn't out carousing with his friends. I figured perhaps this was a better environment for these friends to converse. I did start asking Hamish if he had pulled away from his friends, he simply replied he wanted to enjoy the quiet. I didn't feel like pressing, it was a satisfying answer to a certain extent. Besides I had a low opinion of those with which he socialized following that one incident.

Everything was in a calm state; calm, cordial, even, though stable was not a word I was content to use. Everything was as it should be, I found myself repeating that in my head over and over. The more Hamish and I spent quiet evenings together, the more rehearsals we took part in, the more jobs and the more quiet conversations between Hamish and his mates I repeated this in my mind more and more.

I found myself caring less and less every time Colin called me for dancing around too much or speaking with too many hard tones. I would flash him an annoyed look and do the same damn thing I was doing, then stop and humbly nod and promise I would watch myself yet again.

Colin seemed to be the only one who wasn't amused with my vision. I would occasionally look at the rest of the company as I waved my arms around and savor the giggles and the occasional claps. I didn't question whether any of it was sincere, by now it wouldn't surprise me if everyone took me for a prancing poofter; what the hell did I have to hide?

I was dancing around the sleeping lovers and blotting fairy potion daintily on Lysander's eyelids, adding a little pat on the head as I walked off. James suddenly opened his eyes and started chortling. Colin halted the action, I heard him snickering as well.

"What's wrong, Jimmy, is the prima donna too much for you?" Hamish called from the floor. "You can't handle her wiles?"

I recall shooting a glare at Hamish, seeing him smiling smugly from the seats, his feet propped up on the seatback in front of him. I heard people howling in laughter around me and my frown quickly turned to a cheeky smile. I snickered along with everyone, even hearing Colin snickering a bit.

I dramatically flipped my hair back and looked down at James, he made eye contact with me and laughed a little more.

"This is a diva no one can handle," I said waving a finger.

The produced a few more laughs before Colin called on us to do the scene again, of course with an advisement to me to perhaps refrain from the hair patting. It was a direction I found annoying, but what could I do? This was Colin's vision after all, perhaps I should leave it to him. I just had to recall the reaction I garnered for such "inappropriateness" at Chamberlain rather than the subtle advisements for some restraint here.

I now somewhat expected I would be pulled aside at some point by Colin and advised not to be so obvious. We got close to dress rehearsals and such a conversation had yet to happen, though I was anticipating it at any moment. I did try to have some tiny measure of restraint, I was waiting for the conversation yet I didn't desire to prompt it. The less I added pats on the head and the more even my dancing became, Colin completely shut his trap about the whole matter.

It gradually sunk in though my thick skull that perhaps he was right. Perhaps his directions and criticisms were meant for me to fine tune my performance and not judgments on my manners. I kept this in mind through the last regular rehearsals, putting as much of myself in these rehearsals yet not acting silly for the sake of it. Colin was raving about my performances now.

At last that pat on the shoulder and the gentle words to step aside for a moment came at last.

"Puck is a deceptive and difficult character, I have seen so many people try so many different approaches with him; I've even seen boys playing him," Colin said. "Though it is devilishly hard to keep up the right pace with him; go too conservative the comedy is lost, go too hard then it becomes too foolish. I am seeing you realize this too, though I am seeing most of all that you are finding that perfect balance."

This put a smile on my face.

"My intentions have never been to tie you up or wag a disapproving finger at you," he continued. "And I'm certainly not one of those Chamberlain buggers who will lecture you for being 'vulgar.' In fact I'm rather fond of seeing Puck vulgar, though there is an art to it. I do applaud you for having the guts to go as far as you have, especially after the fun you went through."

I was certainly happy to hear these words, it was a nice encouragement and perhaps some explanation.

"But there is an art to it," I replied with a nod. "Why look vulgar and silly when you can be vulgar and brilliant?"

Colin patted me on the shoulder and smiled wider.

"Perfectly said," he replied.

I grinned and nodded.

"Keep up the good work, lad," he said, giving my shoulder one last pat then walking off.

My smile lingered; I believe I had just heard some of the wisest words that had ever crossed my ears.

From that point on I heeded every piece of his advice. I still pushed my performance though kept a measure of restraint. One could deliver more force with a careful punch then just swinging wildly. The laughs I was getting at rehearsal and the raves coming from Colin told me I was doing the right thing.

"It appears you're finally meeting his standards," Hamish said offhand near the end of a rehearsal.

"It appears so," I replied with a smirk.

Opening night grew closer and closer. I found a few costume pieces around the wardrobe and put together what I thought was a rather fitting outfit; green stockings, a green tunic accented with a fur stole. I gathered the long sleeves to take a more ruffled look and found a way to style the fur in a way so it looked a little like epaulets. I took out some brushes and made these designs around my eyes to make me look more sprite-like. Georgia loved it and Colin was most approving.

I had my maneuvers, I had my uniform, all I needed was a venue. I countered down the days until the play's opening, I was so bloody giddy. The final dress rehearsals were perfection, I so awaited having people in the audience to see our grand spectacle. We put the last finishing touches on during a Wednesday rehearsal, sealing this package to be grandly opened the next evening.

At last that wonderful evening came. Thursday night the doors opened and people filed into the theater. It was going to be a good night, everyone's spirits were high. I know I was chatting a little faster and giggling plenty in anticipation. There were a few comments of "You're a merry sprite already" from a few people and I was only happy to express myself a bit more.

The costumes were on, I went around and helped out with some makeup; having a little fun lightly tickling some cheeks with a brush and telling everyone how fabulous they looked. All of us were peeking out the curtain to see all the people sitting in their seats. Then Colin gathered us around him for the opening prayer. I mentally added a few words asking the Almighty to guide me in making my performance most skilled and most memorable.

Then we all took our places, Theseus and Hippolyta took the stage, and everyone sat back and waited for the moment. I was happy to see those curtains open and hear the first lines, though after just a few minutes I was trying to keep myself from pacing in impatience. I kept myself still by going over my lines in my head. Hamish and I went over some lines as well to keep us occupied.

At last the brutish company of wedding players left the stage to applause, I immediately got into character and hopped into position. One of the newer girls playing the Fairy got on first, then the curtain opened and I lightly stepped onstage to join her. We exchanged lines, I kept up my merry demeanor with a few grand gestures and some light stepping around.

Hamish then came onstage with Titania. I greeted my fairy king (and queen) with a bow; my heart leaping to be on the stage with Hamish in a grander way. I observed the argument between the two lovers, stepping around them and making a few facial expressions in reaction to their quarrel. I could hear some lovely laughs from the audience every time I made some reaction in the background.

Titania then exited the stage with her entourage, Oberon then swung around to me with a glare. It was clearly Oberon's reaction to his cheeky sprite's mischief, though I couldn't help the thought that this was not entirely a character reaction. I drew back a little and shrugged in response anyway, getting a few more laughs. His expression softened right up as he went into his lines. It was even from there, until my final line for this scene when I exited the stage.

I walked backstage with a light step, everyone was in smiles including Colin. I observed the action, then took a cloth flower in my hand and leapt back on the stage. I stepped around as Oberon asked me if I had it. I displayed it and waved it a little in the air. Oberon gave his line, "Pray thee give it to me;" I dangled it in the air a little in front of him and he snatched it from my hand to a rise of laughter. He then gracefully took the flower and went into his calm delivery. He gave his instructions and presented the flower back to me, I snatched it right back and covered it with my hands. I gave my confirmations and left the stage.

I would return later to anoint the eyes of the sleeping lovers, this was my moment to fully express my character in a lovely monologue. I finished my lines with a flourish and lightly danced of the stage to applause.

The following scenes went perfectly. I was not onstage as much, though I put my utmost into the scenes I was in. Everyone was in their best forms and I heard peals of laughter emanating from the audience during everyone's scenes. I would be backstage with Hamish a few times, though we barely said anything more than a few basic words before going back onstage. The thought crossed my mind briefly about our earlier moments onstage and that glare he gave me. Well he certainly wasn't saying anything to me now, I was content to wave it off as an in-character action.

We would go back onstage. Oberon realized Puck anointed the eyes of the wrong lovers. In rehearsal Hamish would confront me in heavy annoyance; this time he was actually grabbing my shoulders and shoving me. I responded by cowering a bit, my lines delivered as nervous answers. He barked out his orders to correct what had been done; in rehearsal he always did this with a sigh and a tired order. It appeared Hamish was stepping things up a bit, I had to admire his ability to improvise.

As we see the scope of Puck's mistake, Hamish was appropriately giving me an evil eye. Sometimes I cowered, sometimes I just shrugged, sometimes I looked amused by the scene until another evil glance from my master cast down my guilty (yet smirking) gaze. Every one of my reactions got a lovely rise from the audience. I took a careful glance at Hamish this whole time, though all his expressions looked in-character.

Oberon stormed off (while he merely sauntered off in rehearsal). My regretful visage lightened right away to merry glee. I cackled and danced around.

"Up and down, up and down, I will lead them up and down," I sang with an unholy cackle. "I am fear'd in the field and down; goblin, lead them up and down."

The mix of wild laughs, nervous snickers, and looks of surprise was like shining light through my veins. My mirth turned in an instant to immediate notice toward the side, then I looked at the audience with a wicked smirk.

"Here comes one," I said with more menace than I suppose I intended, watching Lysander come onstage.

I kept this up toying with each of the lovers, savoring every laugh and cheer I received. I applied the ointment like a lady applying poison to her lovers, and I did add a caress of James' lovely hair before I skittered off.

The action would wind down. I would return onstage with Oberon as he delivered his lines with his darling Titania. My, didn't Hamish look like the ideal leading man; arm around his companion saying so many lovely words. I would chime in with my own lines, though still flittered about the couple; occasionally looking at the audience and pointing to the two. This got a few snickers, I wondered if Hamish was glaring into the back of my head.

The company gathered at the end, the lovers and the royal court watched the foolish play. I came back on with Oberon for our last lines, everything at peace at last. I kept my movements a little more restrained; Hamish was a little calmer in this scene. For a moment I savored the two of us being onstage together, wondering why this peace had not settled on me earlier. When Oberon stepped off for the last time, I was most glad to have the stage to myself for my closing monologue.

I faced the audience and delivered my final lines thoughtfully with only a few gestures. I wanted to create a lasting impression of myself. I wanted to be the first and the last thing everyone remembered about this production.

"So, good night unto you all," I finished with a low bow, putting my clasped hands before me. "Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends."

I bowed again, then rose and ran from the stage with flourish. The applause started before the curtain dropped; it would send me backstage on a gust of happiness. Everyone backstage was so giddy, it made me feel even giddier than I was. Everyone was embracing, everyone was chatting merrily. Hamish approached me and gave me a warm embrace with a few lines of, "Oh God, you were brilliant!"

We lined up for curtain call, I waited for my turn behind Oberon and Titania and listened to all the others getting their cheers. My turn came and I pranced out onstage. The audience roared. I did a few more spins, then snapped to a full stand and bowed; blowing kisses to the audience and eating up the mass of yelling and claps. I moved aside and let the Hamish enter as Oberon with the lovely Abigail as Titania, though I could hear audience's volume greatly dipped when they came on. Even I was surprised by this turn. I glanced at Hamish, though his focus was on moving to the side to allow Theseus and Hippolyta to come on. Then the four lovers came out, then we all linked hands and bowed. Soon we were exiting the stage to thunderous applause.

I joined the others in the lobby and entertained a horde of well-wishers. Oh there were so many lovely compliments on my performance. So many women approached me with flushed cheeks, some sneaking a touch of the collar. So many men shook my hand, so many children mimicked some of my movements in front of me. If this was Heaven, then perhaps I wouldn't be so averse to the idea.

Gradually the throngs moved onward and we went about the business of changing form our costumes and removing our makeup. Everyone was in high spirits and chatting. I was generous with the words of support for everyone, though I was even more flattered to get some kind words in return.

"And this bloody nutter right here, this genius madman," Ephraim said, pointing at me. "Christ, how did you do half those moves and still stay on your feet?"

"He played all of them like a bloody harp, he did," Sam raved. "They were eating out of your hand. Nutter yes, but a genius nutter."

"'Genius' and 'nutter' are two of the most accurate words that describe this arsehole right here," Hamish said, pointing at me with a little smirk.

"Here here," I replied, putting my shirt back on.

We all gathered at the pub later, toasting to a successful opening night and great talents. Everyone was in high spirits and the liquid spirits were flowing. A few more players made comments about my wild performance. Colin simply chuckled along with a few of the comments.

"I believe the term 'artfully vulgar' is especially appropriate," Colin said, looking at me and raising his pint with a wink.

"Words I live by," I said back, giving my own satisfied toast.

I took this as approval.

We all had a few more pints. I found myself telling a few more bawdy jokes and snapping back some witty retorts. I knew I hadn't had that much to drink. I couldn't tell if I was more relaxed or if I was still in Puck's mindset a little; neither was a bad state of being. I continued with the playful insults and savored the cackles and jabs I got in return.

I could hear Hamish's voice slightly slurred but still coherent. He was sitting next to Abigail and praising her as a wonderful partner, then he looked over at me.

"Then we got this scene-chewing twat right here," he said with a slightly annoyed tone in a goofy laugh. "Little bastard."

I raised my glass and smiled at him.

"Don't hate the jester for being himself," I replied.

"No joke, maybe if I played the knave I'd actually get some eyes on me," he replied with another chuckle.

Everyone laughed in merry jest at this, including myself, though I heard something else in that drunken speech. Was little Hamish a little jealous? Did I ruin the primo uomo's golden moment? Oh heavens, what have I done? What a tragedy.

I had a few more drinks and some extra laughs, sharing some words and stories with everyone else; everyone else except Hamish I'll note. He just kept chugging down glasses in between words with Abigail and pretended no one else existed. Good for him to get in a little conversation. The more time passed the more knackered I became. All that prancing around wore me down rather nicely and the drink was doing me no favors either. I had neither the interest nor the energy to get drunk tonight, though Hamish seemed to have the opposite in mind.

It was around half past 11 when I bid adieu to the company. I asked Hamish as a courtesy if he wanted a walk home. He just looked up for a moment from chuckling with an equally pissed Abigail and gave me a stupid grin before going back to his conversation. I took that as a no and left with a few parting farewells. I trusted the others would look out for him, but I wasn't his bloody nursemaid. I left the pub into the foggy air with a spring in my step. The Thames was at low tide and the air smelled like dead fish soaked in shit, though the fresh air cleared my senses a little more.

I walked home like floating on a cloud, my ears were still ringing with the loud applause. I stepped through the streets like a prince, feeling so high above everyone. I so wanted someone to recognize me; to walk up to me and sing my praises, tell me how much of a talented performer I was. I knew deep down that would never happen. After all I was but a lowly player in some tiny hole far from Drury Lane. I was a little surprised at myself for this line of thinking, mentally I sounded like one of those elitist Oxford twats. That did not hold the feeling entirely at bay, though the sight of my building and the promise of a warm bed was a little more of a pressing thought.

I would enter my flat and change into my nightclothes, then drop into bed and sleep soundly. A few times I awoke and noticed the lack of a presence next to me. My arm would flop over though it would only land on the mattress and not on a warm body next to mine. I looked at the clock once, it was 3 and no sign of the bugger. I merely spread my whole form across the bed and went back to sleep. Having a nice big bed to myself was a lovely feeling.

I opened my eyes to a sunlit room, a little groggy from sleep but otherwise ready for another day. The clock read 8:30, I gradually sat up and stretched a bit. My eye went back to the bed; I was lying comfortably in the middle in solitude. I looked around the flat, seeing only the usual furniture and accoutrements and no signs of moving life. There were no footsteps, no clinking of pans or dishes, no voice greeted me, nor did I hear any groaning or rustling from an aching form. It was eerie, I do not believe I had ever been truly alone in this flat before.

I rose and looked around. There were no corners or nooks in which someone could conceal himself. I realized I was indeed alone here; Hamish did not return. I was a bit puzzled, though grew more concerned. I then figured perhaps he got so drunk Colin put him up in a room, that was the most logical explanation. He was getting nicely tipsy when I left, perhaps he got completely rat-arsed and was reduced to a jiggling pile on the floor. Then again I wasn't entirely interested in dealing with him in the morning after. He was already a little pissy the night before, I didn't want to know what he would be like now. Perhaps this was best for the both of us.

I made myself a modest breakfast with a half-pint, going over some lines and simply relaxing. I enjoyed the silence at that moment. I went easy on the drink the night before, though all my other muscles were nicely sore after last night's performance. Perhaps I should train up a bit more so this wouldn't be noticeable.

I finished breakfast then changed a few strings on my violin, the whole time keeping half an eye on the door. I thought briefly about how I would address his drunken comments from the other night. He seemed cross about the previous performance, perhaps it would be best to address everything. Or I could just hear his bellyaching and criticism and know how much of a diva he really was; and he bloody called me a prima donna. We had worked so hard on our performances and our scenes together, he knew I was getting a little rowdy with my performance, why the nipping now? Apparently everything was different in reality then practice.

The clock reached 10:30 and there was still no sign of him. An hour later I was doing some stretches to ready myself for tonight and the door remained still. By noon I was getting tired of waiting around. I ended up going out for a bit, stopping at this nice pub for a pint and some lunch then running a few errands I had been putting off. I would return home around 1 to find an empty flat.

Now I was becoming a bit concerned. He had never been out this late before. I thought to go back to that same pub and see if he had checked out or not. The thought of him lying dead in a pool of his own vomit crossed my mind a few times. Though if that was his current state what the hell could I do about it? Besides they had a cleaning staff and it was likely someone would have found him and fetched Colin. If he was dead I would know soon enough. If he did check out and decided to walk around all day licking his wounds that was his business. I was probably the last arsehole he wanted to see now and so be it.

Around 2 there was still no sign of him, so I just left for the theater. If something happened to him, Colin would let me know or perhaps he would just walk in with the others. I went to Mersey Hall and got into my usual routine before the performance. It was around 3 when I found Colin on a quiet end of the hallway and approached him.

"Do you know what became of Hamish last night?" I asked. "I know he was pretty soused when I left, though he hasn't returned home yet."

Colin's friendly expression darkened considerably.

"He hasn't returned at all?" he asked.

"No, sir, and I'm getting a little worried," I replied.

Colin looked at the wall and sighed hard, he looked rather annoyed.

"He got rather far into the barrel last night, to the point where he was of no use to anyone. I had him brought to one of the upstairs rooms, last I knew he was there sleeping it off and I have heard nothing."

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"Brilliant," I said.

"I concur," Colin replied with the same cheer that was in my voice. "The keeper is an old friend, I'm sure if anything truly ghastly happened someone would have told me straightaway. Does he have any friends in the area, he was a bit on the rough side when we put him to bed and I can't imagine he woke up any better."

I thought for a moment and recalled a few names; all names of his usual obnoxious drinking mates.

"Yes actually I believe he has a few," I said. "Maybe he found a place to let his brains crawl back."

"That might be the logical explanation," he said. "If he doesn't show up tonight, then we'll set the hounds on him."

I nodded with enthusiasm, then we parted ways. I saw Colin give a head shake and heard him emit a hard sigh as he went down the hall.

I returned to my business, cataloguing some of the costumes. One of the backstage boys Trevor walked up to me, I saw this smirk on his face and he did this tell-tale look around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. I smiled a little in return, oh what was he planning? He walked up to me and leaned in close.

"Heard you talking to Colin, something about Hamish being a drunken git?" he said.

"Yeah, he's my flatmate," I said. "I turned in early and missed all the fun," I replied.

He gave this dirty chortle.

"Oh God you have no idea what you missed last night, it was dreadful," he laughed.

I smiled wider and leaned in a little more. Oh this had to be good.

"You've got to tell me; was it that ghastly?" I asked.

Trevor took another careful look around, then leaned into my ear.

"Right after you left, he just kept tossing them back," he started. "He and Abby were getting awful close, the drunker they both got, the heavier they leaned on each other. Well soon they're dancing, or rather falling, then they settle into this table at the back of the room. No one pays them any mind, then we hear her cry out. Well, you know that kind of yell from a woman."

It took me but a second to get his meaning, then I started snickering.

"I turned my head to them, hell everyone turned their heads to them," he continued. "They're just sitting there at the table, leaning on each other. Then I looked at the right angle…"

He broke into peals of giggling, I could see tears streaming down his face. I knew what he was going to say next, I just knew. Trevor found his wits and continued the tale.

"All I could see was his prick out, her hand right around it and pumping," Trevor chortled. "And there's his hand under her dress and you know damn well what was going on there. No sooner than I got full sight of this, he yelled really loudly and gravy just went everywhere. Right in the middle of the bloody tavern."

My breath was caught in chuckles, tears burst from my eyes and I was practically screeching in laughter. Trevor slapped my back and laughed along with me. We both took a moment to regain our composure and calm our laughing.

"Well Abby got up and stumbled a bit, Shannon ended up taking her home," Trevor continued, voice hoarse from laughing. "Hamish was just laying back in his chair, just sitting there with his twig and berries out and trousers a mess. Sam and George pried him up, someone wrapped a dishtowel around his unmentionables, and Colin had him tossed into a room for the night. He was like a flopping fish, though he did say something about being damn cold."

This conjured even more laughs.

"I am never letting him live this one down," I snickered.

"Oh no, there's no living this one down."

We parted with snickers and went back to our respective tasks. Trevor's little story reverberated through my mind. So Hamish did indeed play with someone else's filthy parts, rather flippantly and rather openly too. This was the time when my speech about not caring if he did sample another's fruit was put to the test. Did I really not care all that much? After a while I couldn't answer that question. I was a little taken aback, yes. Was I offended? I couldn't say I was; if I was offended by anything it was all his posturing about wanting things to be pure.

Did he take my words as permission to fiddle about? The real question would be was this an isolated incident, a simple drunken act or perhaps this was just one example? I was more curious than I was put off. Then again hypocrisy entertains me oh so much. If I did want any petty revenge, I had it in spades. Hamish was humiliated in front of all his mates, I couldn't think of a more fitting punishment for him. My strongest thought now was would the arsehole actually show up tonight.

Lo and behold guess who filed into the building right around 6; the pale ghost himself walked through the door. He wore fresh clothes and looked presentable, though his ashen complexion and unkempt hair gave away everything. I noticed how his trousers seemed a bit baggy and his shirt was a little loose in the shoulders. Perhaps he borrowed someone else's clothes and perhaps he did not leave someone's flat until just now.

I watched for anyone's reactions when he came in; there were a few second glances though everyone essentially left him alone. I kept my position as he walked into the dressing room, then carefully approached. I was merely going to greet him as a concerned friend. If he bore me any ill will or any guilt, he could say something on his own time. I made eye contact with him, he did not make any reaction.

"You all right, mate," I said to him in a soft tone, getting a little closer. "Blimey, I haven't seen you all day."

He just gave me this ill look that softened in a moment.

"Well, as you've probably heard, I had a really rough night," he said in this annoyed, matter-of-fact manner. "Colin put me up at the inn last night, this morning I just want to Jay's house and purged a bit more."

I remembered the name Jay, I heard it laughed and slurred a few times during that lovely gathering at our flat.

"Feeling any better?" I asked.

"A bit," he sad with a sigh. "Ready to get on with everything."

I nodded, but he just turned around and walked toward the rest of the group.

Eventually Abigail walked into the room. Hamish immediately walked over to her and greeted her; I saw a few more sideways glances in their direction. He pulled her aside and talked with her about something. I couldn't hear their conversation, but Abigail was nearly red and looked a bit disturbed. Hamish seemed to be comforting her well; he had an arm around her shoulder and talked to her.

The two returned to the dressing room exchanging some soft glances. Hamish then looked over at me for a moment with a blank expression and went back to his business. I just left him alone, there were more important things to deal with now.

Colin stood in front of us and called the usual meeting, going over strong points and weak points from the previous evening.

"You were all masters of improvisation last night," Colin said. "Timings were a little clumsy in places, though I am sure we can all tighten those up."

He went through a list of what could be improved upon. I was told to go a little lighter on the background reactions.

"Thank you, Colin" Hamish called out. "He was bloody distracting last night."

"Apologies, I must have gotten a little carried away," I replied evenly.

"No, you just had to be the center of attention," Hamish retorted.

I didn't look at him, though I could see him turning and glaring at me out of the corner of my eye.

"You're the knave, you're the jester, we get that," he continued. "The jester acts like a bloody fool and makes his masters look the same. But who's the center of that scene? Who has the bulk of the dialogue. Simple courtesy, Mr. Sutcliff."

I kept my gaze forward but could hear some nervous shifting around me. I heard George mutter "Christ almighty, Hamish" and heard a light snicker from Sam.

"The point has already been made, Mr. Quinton," Colin said, voice slightly raised. "This is an ensemble comedy with a varied number and balance of personages. Everything must be kept in balance, but I do not want to hear of anyone's knickers getting in a twist about upstaging."

I looked at Colin and saw him giving a pointed look to Hamish. Hamish sighed and looked away.

"Getting back to the task at hand…" Colin continued, going into another series of advisements and moving things right along.

I kept a calm expression, though my inner voice was screeching in laughter. Oh Hamish you just got put in your place, didn't you?

We did some light rehearsing, including some scenes between Puck and Oberon. Hamish and I kept to the scene at hand, there was no side conversation at all. He looked a little cross, though I couldn't exactly blame him.

I found myself gazing at him a few times, watching the creases in his face tighten a little more. Those furrowed brows, those tight lips, those sideways glances; he looked so handsome when he was angry.


	57. Part 57

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 57**

The show indeed went on as it was meant to. We got into costume and makeup; I added a few finishing touches to everyone's looks. Hamish and I did not speak at all leading up to the curtains opening nor spoke nor did we exchange too many glances. I would occasionally look at him, though he kept his eyes off me for the rest of our time backstage. Perhaps it was for the best, any out of character yelling offstage would lead to some in character yelling; all that was best avoided.

The curtain opened and we started this whole thing again. I went onstage for my scenes, getting some more lovely applause. Hamish then went onstage, we looked at each other at last and I saw a rather neutral and in-character gaze from him. I kept my side gestures restrained that whole scene, more as a form of reaction then any draw to myself. No one applauded to any actions I made. As he wanted, Hamish and his darling Abigail were front and center.

The rest of the show was as lovely as the previous night. Hamish and I would pass each other backstage though no one said a word. I figured he had to overcome his own distemper, why push that? Not once did Oberon grab me or flash me any truly evil looks, perhaps baby got his milk and had no need to fuss. Regardless I didn't restrain any other part of my performance that night; the Prince was reigning as the motley fool bearing the crown and loving every moment of this. I had my applause, I had my yelling, I had my moments of reacting to the audience.

At the end I would come out for my curtain call to thunderous applause. In the end Oberon and Titania would follow me with a muted response. I suppose Hamish would consider this my fault as well; right now empathy was not a word in my vocabulary. I simply took my last bows with the rest of the company and drank in the adulation. I would savor every lord and lady who approached me with their praises. I would look over and see fewer people making such a line for Oberon. My momentary smirk easily turned into a bright smile for my well-wishers.

Everyone was in high spirits backstage, though Hamish and Abigail were not among the rest of the revelers. I then saw both of them emerge from a corner of the hallway; I saw no refastening of buttons or disheveled clothes and figured their discussion was a little less intimate. A few chatting words with George and Sam lead to plans to hit the pub. I had my regular clothes on and gathered with the lads plus Ephraim when Hamish walked right by me. He suddenly slowed down and actually faced me with a dour expression.

"Grell, by the by, I'm going home and dropping dead," he said.

I nodded in response with a smile.

"Enjoy yourself then," I replied.

"If you so much as make a squeak when you return, something heavy is getting thrown at you."

"Well then I shall have to be careful."

He turned around and marched out of the dressing room with a gust of wind. I exchanged glances with the other lads I was with, seeing a few wide eyes and hearing some mocking snickers in response to this pleasantness.

The lads and I went to this nice pub about a block away and enjoyed a few pints. It wasn't long before talk turned to a certain incident the previous night.

"Too bad you missed it, but oh what a sight," Sam chortled.

"Or maybe you should be glad you missed it, it was ghastly," George added with a few chuckles.

Of course I asked for the full story, saying I heard a little from Trevor earlier. I got another version of it with all four telling from their different angles. Everyone was huddled around the table and whispering, so many potentially bellowing laughs were restrained behind sputters and coughs. It was the same narrative, few details changed; Hamish and Abby were indeed getting handsy under the table and Hamish was picked up from his seat in a total mess.

I was laughing my arse off the whole time. Hearing it again made it sound even more ridiculous. There were quite a few colorful jokes. Everyone was trying to be respectful to Abby, which I did find rather gentlemanly. Hamish, however, was the laughingstock. I joined along with them; he deserved every rib and poke. A few pints later Sam brought up that evening in the pub when Hamish and I were both three sheets to the wind and getting cozy.

"Perhaps he's just a friendly drunk," Sam chuckled.

"Easy recipe for a romantic, add lots of liquor," Ephraim quipped.

I laughed along with all of it; this was so bloody funny.

"And here I thought I was the only woman for him," I chortled, dabbing my eyes with a napkin and conjuring a few more belly laughs.

"What an uncouth cad to betray his lady so," George said through tears of laughter.

The subject eventually changed to something else. We had another pint or two, getting nice and tipsy but not stupidly drunk. We were able to give each other pleasant partings and walk away on our own faculties, though not without a little giggling and a couple stumbles.

I walked back home in a happy mood, not really caring what the hell I would return to. I wondered if he really crashed into bed like he said he would or if he was still up and whining more. Maybe he found more of his arsehole friends and got drunk again. Maybe he and Abby found some rehearsal time of their own.

I walked through the hallway and paused before the door before going in, listening first for the sounds of carousing or fornicating though heard neither. I unlocked the door and walked into the flat, taking a look around the room. There was a telltale lump in the covers. I tiptoed closer and saw Hamish sprawled out on bed, his black hair covering half his face and scattered all over the pillow.

I looked at him for a moment, then threw my coat on the floor and walked to the bed at the side of the room. It looks like this bed was here for a good purpose. I quietly changed into my nightclothes, prepared for something to launch over at any second. Instead he remained still, I didn't offend the little prince's delicate sensibilities after all. I crawled into bed and was asleep right after my head hit the pillow.

I woke to the smell of wood smoke and the clink of a cup against the table. I slowly opened my eyes to daylight, the light was a bit brighter than my comfort though that was the only after effect of last night. I turned to the table to see Hamish's slouched back, his elbows on the table and a hand raising a cup to his lips. I slowly sat up and pushed aside the covers. Hamish paused and looked over his shoulder in my direction, though his gaze stayed right off me.

"Good morning," I said.

"Morning," he replied with the hint of a groan. A silence lingered for a few moments before he spoke again. "The kettle's on."

"Splendid," I replied.

I assumed this was an invitation. I gradually came to my feet and sauntered over to table. The kettle and tea tin rested on a wooden board, though I did not see another cup set out. I went to the cupboard and got one, then sat down and prepared my tea. I avoided Hamish's gaze, not knowing what kind of a mood he was in this morning. I sipped my tea, keeping my eyes on the leaves collecting at the top. Silence lingered for a bit.

"Did you sleep well? " I asked, looking up at him at last.

His eyes remained on his cup, he was still for a few seconds then he nodded.

"I needed that badly," he sighed.

I simply nodded, sipping my tea and keeping my gaze back down.

"How was the pub?" he asked.

"It was a lovely time," I answered. "I haven't been out with those boys in a while."

Hamish took another sip, his head down like a guilty dog.

"Anyone tell any interesting stories, about Thursday night that is?" he asked with a wince.

So we're finally brave enough to get on that subject?

"A lot of people," I replied, looking up at him. "All rather colorful and all with the same narrative. How much of it is true is another matter."

He nodded, I saw a pained frown through that curtain of hair.

"Do you want it to be just a rumor?" he asked.

"Matters not," I said plainly. "I already told you, the thought doesn't bother me. Your business is your own."

Hamish let out another hard sigh and sipped his cup, eventually nodding.

"I don't remember a damn thing about that night," he said. "Everything is a fog. I just remember waking up in piss-soaked sheets with my trousers caked in man milk. All I remember is chatting a bit with Abby, then I wake up and see this and I don't know what the hell happened."

I wanted to chuckle in sympathy, though that would only piss him off more. I just nodded.

"I figured I must have tossed off at some point," he continued. "Ya know Jay was having a laugh at how I must have gotten a present from some lovely thing."

I snickered in response; Hamish closed his eyes for a second and looked at the table in annoyance.

"I get back to the theater, Abby comes up to me straightaway. She wasn't as gone that night, she remembers more than I do and Shannon filled in the rest to her."

Hamish took a hard breath, a hand running through his hair. I sipped my cup and looked at him.

"The fun of getting rat arsed," I replied. "I've seen weirder, though. Hell I've done weirder."

I lifted my right hand and stuck it under his face, my left index finger tracing the nasty scar. He stared at it for a second, I then pulled my wrist away. At last he looked up at me.

"You are indeed not angry," he said.

I shook my head with a little smirk. He looked back down at his cup.

"I wasn't taking a piss, Hamish, I really don't care," I said. "You got a gentle hand for your troubles, I should be congratulating you."

Hamish actually chuckled a little, I laughed along with him. The laughs faded, we sat in silence once again.

"I was concerned that you did not show up all day," I added.

"I was drunk off my arse in a room with soiled trousers," he snapped.

"As I know now," I said right back in a raised tone. "Understandable situation, answered question, though I cannot deny my earlier concern."

He huffed and sipped his tea; I sipped mine in turn.

"After all, you've done weirder," he groaned.

"And I know how it bloody goes. I'm not harping on you, Hamish. Contrary to what your little friends may think I am not your nagging wife."

Hamish huffed again and nodded. I was tempted to add, "Contrary to what your little friend may have been telling you all day," but that would just make him even more defensive. I had a god idea what they did chat about, though I didn't feel like getting into it. I wasn't willing to drop this subject so easily either.

"As far as I can see right now, I'm not the one with the habit of snipping," I said. "You snip defensively at me, you snip at me about my performance in front of everyone…"

"I was offering some needed criticism in a forum of our peers and our director," Hamish growled. "He asked for opinions out in the open, I gave them."

"And sounded like mewling child whilst doing so."

"According to Colin and according to the rest of them. I wasn't saying anything different than what you would have heard from any decent director."

I sipped my cup then cackled.

"Decent director?" I snickered.

"Colin is a good chap, and yes he is a good director, but he's really just an actor with a dream of creating this theatrical utopia that doesn't match with the rest of the world," Hamish sighed. "God forbid you act silly behind the back of a major actor, you'll never work onstage again."

I just had to laugh at this

"Well good thing I wasn't doing this to a major actor then," I chortled.

Hamish shot me a calm glare.

"Christ, you know what I mean," he growled. "And you're not such a big star you can get away with that. You're getting your laughs and applause in a bottom rung playpen for secretaries and seamstresses."

"And so are you, unless you've forgotten," I snapped back. "You're far from Drury Lane now, friend; you're now a part of this company of secretaries and seamstresses."

His facial features tightened, I knew right then I had hit a rather sensitive place. He had been on Drury Lane once; that promising career drew to a halt when he became ill, naturally I punched a right sore spot. I had a mind to apologize; instead I was a little distracted by that icy glare boring through me. Oh dear me did he look handsome when he was pissed.

"And you harbor nil ambitions of going there yourself," Hamish replied. "You would so love to remain in this hole for the rest of your life. In the high unlikelihood that is the case, then perhaps you could benefit from learning a little from me. I respect Colin, I do, and I owe him much, but he's hardly a master director. No other director would tolerate the way you were acting."

"And any other director would certainly appreciate another little low level peon, an unknown toss-off whining like a babe about how much more important he was over the others," I hissed, leaning forward and looking right at him. "Because Oberon is the primo uomo of the show and Puck is supposed to be a shrinking violet in comparison. No I don't know what Drury Lane is like because I'm here, we're here right now. Our hack director gave us enough bloody directions and told you to shut it,"

He planted a calm glare right on me, I so wanted to see what could make him just explode.

"You could have so easily avoided looking like a prat in front of everyone by just fucking talking to me directly," I continued. "'Grell, try go a little easy on the next scene.' 'Don't take my stage away from me again, you arsehole.' Two seconds off to the side and no need for drowning your sorrows later or spending a day bitching to your pubmate. Next time you have a bloody problem with me, you bring it right to my ear the soonest opportunity like a man and not a coward."

Hamish just rolled his eyes and looked away for a moment.

"'Bitching to your pubmate' eh?" he said. "Oh so that's what's behind this."

I snickered and rose from me seat, leaning a little more in his face.

"I don't tolerate disrespect, nor anyone who shows me the same," I said calmly with a hint of a growl. "I would expect you to understand."

Hamish fixed his gaze on me, his lip curled a little more. Yes, that's it; let's see a little more reality.

"Or else what?" he snapped, slapping his hands on the table. "Or else you'll slap me again? Or else you'll beat the tar out of me like you did that sorry twat at Chamberlain? Is that the story? Some silly bastard offended the lady's delicate sensibilities and she pointedly informed him of his rudeness."

I smiled and put a hand to my hip.

"Perhaps some people would benefit from being just a little more gentlemanly."

"What impeccable manners you have, the result of such pristine breeding. Now who should be gentlemanly? Oh that's right, you're a lady…allegedly."

I laughed in response, though these words gnawed on me a little.

"Was that intended as an insult?" I laughed. "Are you trying to find my weak point? Lovely attempt."

"Maybe I should give it another go. You point out my failings, well let's look at yours. You are a failed gentleman deluding himself to think he is someone he is not nor will ever be."

I let out a high-pitched giggle behind a stiff smirk.

"Posh breeding, enviable schooling, even decent respect never took a hold on you," the bastard continued. "You are now a vagabond with an over-inflated ego performing in a hole of a theater, playing your violin for the rich people who used to lick your arsehole, and putting on a bloody dress and pretending to be a woman. You throw my failings at me? Who's the one who shouldn't be casting any stones?"

I drew back and gave the same high-pitched giggle, this time they came out in a series of shrill cackles. My face was hot and my hands were shaking, I stepped back and twirled around the floor laughing like a madman. It was all so hysterical and so fucking revolting at the same time. I laughed and laughed, feeling my fists balling up and my blood running hotter.

I imagined that handsome face of his covered in beautiful crimson, I wondered how lovely his eyes would look circled in black and purple, how many different notes that smooth voice could scream. My feet were about to prance back in his direction so I could paint him up quite nicely, though they stayed frozen on the carpet. I took hard breaths until I felt lightheaded, my mirth crashing into absolute rage.

A voice in my mind begged me not to bloody him up; it grabbed my hand and pulled like a pleading child. This was the only thing that kept me from finding the best places to wail on him. Instead I laughed, I laughed until my throat grew hoarse. Then I looked at him; his eyes were wide and radiated fear. That trembling lower lip, those stiff creases in his face, he looked beautiful the way he was; too many brushstrokes can ruin the painting after all. How long would it be before I saw some opportunities for touch-ups?

I rushed over to my wardrobe and threw it open, throwing off my nightgown and hastily dressing.

"You're a bloody lunatic," Hamish said.

I threw my head in his direction and was about to run toward him to cover him in red, but I held my steps. I needed to get out of there fast.

"Yes, yes I am indeed," I snickered, my voice tightening into a snapping growl. "You've got me so fucking sussed out, don't you? Well perhaps you've got one thing right; yes I am a bloody lunatic. But I'm also a fucking lady, and I'm a gentleman, and I'm a masterful actress, and I am a star. I am all those things. Not pretending, I bloody am!"

I threw on a waistcoat and shoes, allowing myself to stumble a little whilst putting them on to keep from running at him. His face remained in that gorgeous expression of fear.

"What's wrong, love, pissed you're not getting all the applause, or even any applause?" I hissed underneath a few more chuckles. "Oh no, God forbid the masterful failed actor doesn't get all the attention. Too bad I'm so much fucking better than you will ever be. I've got men and women lining up for a moment of my time, how about you Hamish? Not enough admiration, you need me to stifle myself to make you look better? You want to be like Jacob and Matthew and the rest? You want to line up with them?"

I shoved my arms through my coat sleeves, then took hold of a handkerchief in my pocket and waved it around.

"Oh that damnable Grell, he is such an embarrassment," I nearly sang, waving the handkerchief. "Let's just throw him in a little cage and hope he learns some manners. Let's just tell him what is proper and assume he'll fall in line. Let's take her toys away from her and she'll be the perfect little lady so we can whore her off. No, no no no no no no NO!"

I threw down the handkerchief and sprinted for the door.

"FUCK YOU, HAMISH," I roared as I opened the door. "FUCK YOU!"

I exited the flat, slamming the door behind me, and running down the hallway. I could have easily tripped, slipped over the banister, and fallen several floors down. Perhaps that would be true poetic irony, or perhaps it would be doing him a favor. I kept running, seeing a middle-aged gent walking up the stairs. I shoved him into the wall as I slipped beside him, he yelped in protest, but I was on the first floor and out the door the minute his tirade began.

I marched down the street full bore, my ears roaring and my tongue yearning for the taste of blood. I walked and walked, shoving aside anyone who got in my way. There were a few yelps and a few curses thrown my way, if only someone would grab me or track me down and try to bloody me up. I wanted to hear yells through the crowd and feel a hand yank my shoulder or pull at my coat. I wanted to feel a fist smash against my face; I wanted my knuckles to slam against flesh and bone. I nearly aimed right for a large, rough looking gent coming down the sidewalk, though something made me pass right by him without so much as an arm brush.

This sense steered me clear of other bodies, my memory conjuring the sensations of an aching nose or the sting of cracked ribs that returned every time I draw a breath. Instead I looked at all the people coming down the street. Maybe I could offer that older lady my hand to help her walk, then lead her into an alleyway and bludgeon her with her cane. I could buy some candy and give it to those ragged boys along the wall, then kick their little brains out. I wanted to go to a grocer and buy some arsenic, then put it in a few loaves of bread and donate them to a church. I wouldn't be able to see the writhing and dying, though I would have the joy in my heart for my contribution to society.

My feet stomped the cobblestones and my fists were clenched at my side, though I felt my skin cooling a little. I passed by a dozen pubs, every time pulling myself away from the desire to grab glass after glass of gin. I passed an apothecary and found myself pause a little. I recalled the feeling of sweet, numb oblivion; anger fading to peaceful bliss. I imagined a simple bottle and a few little drops into a glass; that's all I would need. I nearly went in, though jerked my body back to my march. My memory then twisted my stomach and conjured the sensation of my clothes drenched in sweat. It was an effective reminder; I mentally kicked myself for even allowing the thought of delving into that bollocks again.

I took a look up at a clock on the street; it was nearly 11. I had to be back at the theater at 2, getting obliviated now would be a poor decision. I continued walking, looking up at one point and seeing red-uniformed guards positioned against a set of iron gates. I did a double take and looked a little further, the handsome structure of Buckingham Palace fully in view. I paused for a moment, looking up at the soaring columns and the lovely statues around the roof. I had been walking quite a while, hadn't I?

I stared at the building, my feet frozen to the ground. I felt the cool spring breeze against my face and I took a few clearing breaths. My heart took a slower beat, my bile suppressed if but a little. I started at the building, imagining who may be at home. Did George enjoy an afternoon with a book and a pint like normal guys? Was he taking any grand company, an ambassador or even another monarch. I briefly imagined Earl Bram sitting at the dinner table with him, chatting about one conspiracy after the next. This musing was a lovely distraction. I looked at the guard a few feet from me standing at the gate and staring out, still as a statue. I smiled a little.

"Nice work, chap," I quipped to the gent, naturally getting no response.

I took a few breaths, then one last look up at the palace. I was calm enough to join the rest of the world. I gave a small bow to the palace, then walked in the opposite direction from whence I came.

I did stop into a pub, but ordered a plate of black pudding with a pint; I hadn't eaten all day, I was famished. I ate my lunch and sipped from my glass, allowing my thoughts to fall into place. My anger was gone, though I was far from happy.

Whether I went right home or occupied myself until my time to go to Mersey Hall, I would still have to deal with Hamish. I wasn't relishing the idea of another backstage meeting after all hell broke loose. It would be best if I went back home, though what was I going back home to? I wasn't expecting apologies when I got back, though I had no intentions of giving any either.

I chewed my food slowly and casually sipped my pint, allowing my mind to consider every contingency. One thought paused my fork for a moment and put my eyes on the suds in the glass; perhaps this was all beyond the point of repair. Everything was deteriorating; everything between us seemed to get worse and worse. Once upon a time he had been so loving, so considerate; now I wonder if he regretted all of that. Maybe he was made to regret all of that, though in the end his thoughts were his own.

What next, where else could this all sink? Would Hamish go to his friends with a puffed up face drooling blood? Would someone be finding his body somewhere? What of me, how much longer could I tolerate his distemper, his suspicions, even his wandering ways real or imagined? Would I take all of it in with a cynical glare, holding myself back from bashing his skull in?

I finally had my freedom and already I sealed myself into another form of hell. Perhaps I owed it to myself, I owed it to Hamish to end this arrangement. The thought made my chest heavy and my breath staggered, though deep down I felt a sense of liberation. I had just removed myself from a golden prison, it was time I shut this down before it became the same.

Though what of Mersey Hall? What of the play? Even if I did leave, I would still have to face him. The thought of Mersey Hall becoming a poisoned space scared me far more than the thought of losing Hamish. I took a long gulp of my glass and thought a bit more. I could speak with Colin; explain the situation a bit. I'm sure Colin knew about Hamish's misadventure in the pub and I could not imagine he was pleased with the whole matter. Colin had always been my ally, my protector; perhaps I could rely on him.

I finished my lunch, washing it down with another pint as I saw the clock behind the bar strike noon. I wanted to give myself plenty of time to return to the flat and have some form of resolution before I left for work. I paid my tab and added a generous tip, then left the pub and began my walk back home. My walk was significantly calmer; my blood cooled quite a bit though I was still tense. I decided I would give him one opportunity to answer for himself. If I heard more scolding or excuses I was gone, that was the last of it.

It was a while before I reached the building. I walked in, taking sure steps up the stairs and through the hall leading to the flat. I walked down the corridor, hearing a violin playing in the direction of our door. I approached the door, the playing clearly behind it. Hamish was practicing, I listened for any other voices or noises though heard none. I took a deep breath and put my key in the lock, turning the knob and walking in the flat.

The playing continued as I entered the room, closing the door behind me. Hamish was sitting on the couch, fiddle in hand and looking across the room. I paused by the doorway, seeing if he would stop and acknowledge my presence or just keep playing. I looked at the clock on the wall, if he didn't at least turn an eye to me in three minutes I was walking back out that door.

He finished a line and held the last note, then he removed the bow from the strings and gently lowered his fiddle. Hamish looked out across the room for a moment, then carefully placed the fiddle and bow on the couch and looked up at me. I fixed an even gaze on him, mouth frozen in a frown. He slowly rose from his seat, turning and facing me with a tired, but soft expression. We stared at each other for a second, a wall of silence hung in the air between us like a glass pane.

Hamish sighed hard and grimaced, neither my expression nor my stance changed a bit.

"And here it's my turn to wonder if and when you would return," Hamish said. "And once again, it is due to my foolishness."

My expression remained in place, but I furrowed my brows. I hoped I was hearing what I thought I was, though I was just ready for more bollocks spewing from his mouth. Hamish looked to the floor, then back up at me.

"I did quite a bit of thinking after you left," he said.

He paused, looking down at the floor then back up to me. I saw a softness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"I owe you an apology," he said. "Everything I said to you was out of line. There was no purpose behind any of it but insults borne from pride and I cannot apologize enough."

I kept my stare, though softened my scowl; still saying nothing in return.

"These past few days have been poor for me, all due to either my actions or my hubris," he continued. "I have no one to blame for my foul mood but me."

He paused again, looking to the side then at me. I could just see him trying to gather words.

"You have been absolutely brilliant in your role," Hamish sighed. "You have been the star, and I say that as a compliment. You've had everyone eating from the palm of your hand, and I've hated you for it. I've been on the same stage as you and I know you're what they're all seeing. I maintain that your side actions during my scenes were inappropriate and distracting."

My brows rose, how here comes the truth.

"Though I should indeed have spoken to you directly right after that scene," he continued. "Instead my wounds were coated in salt and my resentment built up. I know I am part of an ensemble, but I also know I am a lead character. I believe one took more weight with me than the other, which was foolish. You've been acting as Puck should, you've been the harlequin and people love that. I took your triumph personally. Instead of building up my own performance, I took offense and took it all out on you; and I apologize for it. You do not deserve my distemper, neither does Colin, nor any other member of the company."

"Even our talentless, know-nothing director?" I asked evenly.

Hamish sighed and nodded.

"That was an unfair assessment," he said.

I said nothing, then slowly nodded.

"You are doing what you have so dreamed of, Grell," he continued. "You have a past, I have a past, it was monstrous of me to voice such judgment against you. I have seen what you have overcome, it's not fair of me to use that against you, and I am most sorry for that."

I nodded again, looking to my feet then back at Hamish.

"I cast some judgment on you for the same, and for that I too apologize," I said. It was only fair.

Hamish nodded.

"I won't apologize about Abby," he said.

"Good," I replied.

"I will honor what you said about not caring of things like that."

I stared at him for a moment, so many more words coming to the surface.

"There was a reason for that, I have said it numerous times," I calmly growled. "I don't give a toss about you playing around as long as I have your love and your respect. Those words that came from your lips this morning were neither of respect nor love. I now have a string of apologies that I pray aren't empty."

I expected he would snap to his defense right away, instead he stared at me. The corners of his mouth drooped and he gazed at me downcast. He reminded me of a forlorn dog.

"As a gentleman, no matter how failed I may be, I accept your apologies," I continued. "As a lover I cannot. I will be your partner, but I will not be a conquest or a trophy you shag then treat like a dog. I need you to answer me one thing with the utmost truth; do I still have your love? If I do not, say the word and your are free."

Hamish stared at me, his lower lip slightly dropping but not a word from his mouth. He gazed at me, then looked down at the floor. The longer his gaze remained downturned and the longer he chewed on his lip, the surer I was of what the answer would be. No pangs or fear or anticipation went through me at all, I was perfectly calm. He slowly turned his gaze back into my eyes; I readied myself for some truth at last.

"I love you, Grell, I truly do," he breathily replied. "I don't want to lose you, I swear to God I don't."

I stared at him with an even expression. This was hardly satisfying.

"Then bloody show it," I responded. "I cannot share the love of a man who speaks to me as you did. I will accept your apologies only on one condition; we will not be in this same place again."

Hamish nodded, his lower lip trembling and his eyes slightly watering. He carefully reached forward and I allowed him to take my hands in his. He brought my hands to his chest and kissed my fingers.

"I swear to you, Grell," he whispered.

"One more occasion, Hamish, one more harsh word," I hissed.

Hamish nodded and clutched my hands tightly.

"Mutual respect is vital," he sighed.

I stared at him, then nodded.

We gazed at each other for a while; his hands were shaking around mine. I took a gentle step forward and slowly leaned my head against his chest. He let go of my hands and gently embraced me, pulling me in tight. His chin leaned on the top of my head, I felt his warmth, took in his scent. I felt safe in that moment, my tense muscles relaxed.

I leaned my head up and kissed him, his soft lips welcomed mine and we were lost in a lovely moment. Hands were soon wandering; the clothes I put on this morning in haste were hastily discarded and rested on the floor with his. He laid me down on the bed and took me with great care, his hands finding every sensitive spot on my body as he made love to me. This was another apology in physical form.

We both finished in happy sighs, then we lay in each other's arms for a while. I didn't know if I could believe any of the words he said, though for some reason that did not matter right now. I was comfortable right then, for how much longer remained to be seen.

I know I meant every word I said to him; I wouldn't allow another repeat of this. The last thing I needed was another Reg, the last thing I needed was another bloody body in front of me. I knew my nature well enough, I knew if he continued this charade it would be harder and harder to keep from spilling his blood. I knew deep down that was not how I wanted this to end.


	58. Part 58

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 58**

Hamish and I were smiles and chatter all around at the theater. For once everything felt relaxed. That little roll in the sheets before I left relaxed my mood considerably for my work that afternoon. We greeted each other warmly when he came in. Now we were getting ready for the night like two old chums.

I wanted to have a good night at last. The past two nights of the play had been their own form of bad drama, I just wanted to enjoy my time; do my work, appreciate my character, savor the adulation. I was tired of bickering and gossip; I wanted things peaceful at last. By Hamish's demeanor I had a feeling he did as well.

For once I took that stage with no worries. I acted from the depths of my soul, yet reeled myself in during those key scenes. Hamish maintained his even temper throughout the whole thing. We would even give each other a few suggestions as we passed each other backstage.

I would give my final speech, we all gathered backstage in smiles, and we all went out for curtain call. My applause remained louder then the response Hamish and Abby received, though I saw the look on his face this whole time was a simple calm. He just looked at me with a smile as I clapped hard for him.

We left the stage in a jovial mood and met with our adoring fans outside. Soon we were back in the dressing room removing our costumes and makeup. I was chatting a little with Shannon and James as I washed off the designs on my face. I took a brief look around and noticed Hamish was nowhere to be found. I didn't think too much on this, I figured he was off doing something.

A little while later I saw him return to the dressing room, Colin right behind him. His makeup was still on and I swore I saw a scowl of calm anger on his face. Colin went off to do some of his other business, though at one point I noticed him glance over at Hamish with a worried expression. Hamish removed the last of his makeup and changed back into his regular clothing barely saying a word and looking not all that amused.

Oh dear what just happened? Did Colin have a few words with Hamish over something? He performed brilliantly tonight and Colin always gave criticism out in the open. I had an odd feeling Colin had some other business with dearest Hamish, a small part of my brain wondered if it had anything to do with the previous evening's escapade.

Hamish walked over to me as soon as he was finished, I hastened my cleanup a little and we walked out together. I was tempted to ask him what happened with Colin, though thought that would be a better conversation for private. Hamish whispered in my ear a suggestion to go to Lady Marigold's.

"I could use a little bawdiness right about now," he said.

I nodded in agreement; I was certainly game. I didn't have my dress on me but what the hell. The Prince was still flowing strong through me; I was more than willing to play the gentleman.

A few minutes later we gave our password to the doorman and were soon in the midst of bawdy splendor. The Prince had his nose high in the air and scoping out some lovely things. I danced with Hamish, sometimes I also found some pretty boy or some lovely lady to lead around too. Hamish did the same on occasion and we would just look at each other and wink.

Both of us were knocking glasses back pretty hard, though I noticed Hamish was getting a bit more enthusiastic. I wasn't exactly fond of dealing with him whilst drunk, though didn't think giving him a lecture was such a good idea. Instead I whispered in his ear a suggestion to go into one of the side rooms. He smiled and allowed me to pull him along.

It was his turn to play my whore; I made that very clear the moment the door was shut. I threw him on the bed and roughly pawed at him, ripping his clothes off, he went along with a smile. He was even agreeable to getting my belt across the backside a few times and was positively wiggling when I wrapped said belt around his wrists and strapped him to the bedpost. Perhaps this was a good way to get out some pent-up aggressions after that whole rubbish.

I was not very polite or gentlemanly for the next while and it was glorious. I had him writhing under my rough touch; I savored every one of his screams and did what I could to conjure more. When everyone finished, I would pull back and savor the sight of him sweaty, bruised, and panting; a huge smile on his face.

"You're a bloody animal," he gasped with a laugh.

I just smiled down at him.

Eventually we cleaned off and started getting ourselves in order in this uncomfortable quiet.

"Did you have a little chat with Colin?" I said at last.

Hamish was putting on his shirt, then he stopped for a moment. A grim look came over his face for a second, then he just continued what he was doing.

"He just had a couple things to ask me, that's all," Hamish replied, I caught a tenseness on his voice.

I stared at him with a raised eyebrow. I wanted to press further, but the last thing I needed was him using this against me later; another example of how much of a distrusting, nagging harpy I am.

"Oh, that's all," I responded with a nod, my tone clearly communicating I didn't believe him.

"Yeah, some bollocks thing he couldn't wait until another time to ask me," Hamish sighed. "Just some bookkeeping stuff."

I nodded. He was lying his arse off, I could hear it in his voice. Whatever, he didn't want to tell me the truth that was his issue. I had many guesses as to what Colin said to him and none of them had to do with bookkeeping.

"It's after midnight," Hamish said with a sigh. "Did you want to stay here tonight or did you want to go home?"

"Personally I'd rather get back home," I replied, keeping up with the script.

Soon after we bid farewell to a few friends and wandered down the street towards our flat. There was little conversation, mostly a few bits of idle chatter. I was in no mood to even be saying that much; I just wanted my bloody bed. At last we walked through the door, Hamish pointed out some of the bruises I left on him with a few laughs.

"Christ I'm going to have some of these for weeks," he snickered. "You really got into the mood, you little minx."

He leaned over and kissed me. My lips formed into a feral smile as I kissed him back. He deserved every bloody mark on him by my estimation. I was just happy to get into bed, lay by his side without any strife or drama between us. I was somewhat tense but I tried to relax that. No I wasn't happy with him for lying to me, but that was a minor consideration now. I just wanted to get past that and get comfortable for once in too long. For what it was worth I wanted this to heal. Whatever happened next was whatever happened.

From the next morning on things were much lighter. Everything was like any other good day; we chatted, we practiced, we made plans for a few jobs. We went to the theater later in complete peace and put on another masterful performance for everyone.

Throughout the night I did pay attention to all the interactions between Colin and Hamish. They remained civil; Colin was his usual friendly self though I heard a more strained tone in Hamish's voice. Conversations were polite but terse, I wondered if this would last; perhaps this was how things would be between them. Whatever, none of it was my business anyway. I was done caring about how these two got on.

After all this hurly burly and all this drama, everything gradually calmed. We got through the rest of the weekend, Hamish and I then settled into a few peaceful days of playing a few parties and pubs and hitting a few ourselves. Rehearsals started on Wednesday then we returned to the stage Thursday for another lovely run.

This even became a bit of a routine for the next few weeks. Hamish stayed a gentleman, I stayed on my best behavior, there was no fighting or strife, everything remained in a state of polite calm.

Hamish would go out with his mates on regular occasion but I hardly cared. I found myself spending a little more time with some of the theater chaps as well. Sometimes I even went to Lady Marigold's by myself, lovely dress in hand of course. I would have a few glasses, engage in some gossip, dance with a few lovely gentlemen. I refused a few advances; I had no interest in half the cads who propositioned me. Most of them knew Hamish anyway and backed off out of respect. It wasn't as if I was obliged to Hamish, just didn't feel like being pawed all over by some portly sod.

We needed to have our own circles. Yes the thought crossed through my head every time he went out that he would come back drunk, rowdy, and insulting. As much as I readied myself he always retuned polite or too inebriated to carry on any coherent words. After a while my guard went down a little.

I savored some happiness, though I knew better than to get complacent. May as well savor the quiet while it lasted and who knew how long it would last.

It was clear to me the surest thing I had in my life was that stage and the audience before me. No matter how I was feeling, no matter how secure or otherwise I felt, I would walk out on that stage and own every bit of wood and curtain. After a while I wasn't playing politely, though Hamish was keeping his trap shut. I would bask in the thundering applause at the end of each evening and mourn everyday I was away from my adoring public.

Yes I was playing small stages and the corners of parlors for two more days, though this was hardly art to me. This was extra money, this was a job, this was a few polite moments beside Hamish and sometimes his arsehole mates, that's all this was to me. I was soon realizing the novelty was wearing off quick; my tolerance for standing politely in a corner and playing some safe tune was waning.

I would glance at all the toss-offs in their suits and wigs and imagine what awful secrets each one held: who was an adulterer, who was a murderer, who whipped his workers, who beat her children. I never before minded playing for these dead-eyed sods, now it was catching up to me how much I truly hated being around all of them. I left this world for a reason, what the hell was I doing back here entertaining them?

I kept my mouth shut and my smiling mask in place. We would go on, play, and leave with our money. If Hamish's friends were with us I just let them chat and tried not to think of any whispers against me. I would do this whole charade knowing there would be a place I would shine in just a day or so. It made walking into that theater all the more sweeter.

I was a little disappointed to learn the April Fool's special reading had been discontinued. I had been looking forward to getting into a ghastly dress and letting the lady take over in a new role. Alas Colin wanted to keep all momentum on the task at hand and not pull any resources away from the main run. It was such a pity, the Lady so wanted to take the stage and have a grander shining moment.

I promised her she would have her time in the spotlight soon. I did switch up my delivery a bit; I made Puck sound a little more effete and had him move a little lighter on his feet. The Lady wasn't in a pretty dress, but she was happy. I still got some lovely applause. A few people commented on the change-up with ample praise.

"What brought about that inspiration?" Colin asked me with a laugh.

I just smiled with a shrug.

"Puck's an unpredictable chav, keeping him the same can get boring," I replied.

Colin snickered a bit.

"It was a risk, but I thought it worked," he said. "Just don't change things too much, it can get jarring."

I took the criticism with a nod. My experiment was successful, though; that's all that mattered suppose.

I followed Colin's advice and didn't change my performances all that much; I just let the Prince and the Lady shine at different times. It was a happy medium and nobody complained.

I was walking back home one evening in early April, Hamish a few steps away as we chatted. A gentleman in a gaudy suit and a bad wig approached me with some folder in his hand. I barely listened to his name, though I immediately heard the name of the theater he said he was representing.

"Your skills have made you rather popular," the guy said. "Perhaps you would be interested in moving up from your present position."

The guy shared details about his supposedly larger theater on supposedly a closer street to Drury Lane with a brief quite of some reviews from the Times. I was just trying to figure if I heard this right, this guy wanted me to play at his theater? I really didn't know what to think on this. I politely took his card and bid him good evening.

"So you ready to move onto something grander, like only fifty feet off Drury Lane and not a hundred?" Hamish chuckled later that night.

"He drove a hard bargain, but I don't enjoy performing to an audience of rats," I replied.

Hamish got a good laugh out of this one.

No, I had zero interest in what this bloke was selling. I suddenly recalled dearest Jacob's warnings about such recruiters, especially those two odd chaps at Earl Bram's party so long ago. I could only smile at the thought. Still the thought some theater owner enjoyed my performance that much to try to steal me away made my chest puff out a bit more.

The next evening I dared imagine a much larger audience in front of me. I imagined myself on a wider stage wearing a finest costume and performing against a lovely backdrop. I put everything into that performance, curious if anyone who truly mattered was there that night and ready to offer me something a bit more real. I broke from my fantasy the moment I gave the last speech and walked to our humble backstage and my good friends. Musings, that's all they were.

It was nearing the end of April when Colin mentioned he was already considering selections for the summer tragedy. In the meantime our last few weeks of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" just had to wow everyone.

"What do you think we'll do next?" I asked Hamish over dinner.

Hamish didn't really respond. He just sipped his ale with a pensive look. I found this a bit unusual. Usually this would be a great conversation starter. How many times had we debated what the next show would be or discussed who we would play next? Instead Hamish took another bite of his bread and stared at the table, his eyes telling me he was thinking of some hard words.

"To be frank, I really can't say I care," he replied at last.

I frowned a little in response. Hamish looked at me thoughtfully then let out a deep breath.

"I don't know what my future is with this company, Grell," he sighed. "I almost feel as if I'm reaching the end of the road with Colin and this theater."

I furrowed my brows and stared at him. I can't say this was a surprising declaration, though it wasn't exactly settling.

"What's really going on with you and Colin, Hamish?" I asked.

Hamish sighed hard and looked to the side.

"Colin's a good man and I do owe him a lot, I do," Hamish started. "It's…it's just we've grown apart a bit. Things aren't like they used to be. Now I feel I need something different. I'm realizing my interest lies more in my music. Perhaps acting was a fancy that was never meant to be. Yeah the money's good but I can pick up a bunch more stuff to make that up."

"You sound like you've really thought on this," I replied, sipping my own pint.

"I guess you could say that."

I shrugged and nodded. What the hell could I say to this? I just hoped his plans did not include building up that lost income on my back.

"You do what you feel you need to," I said. "You're a grown man, I'm sure you can figure out how to get by."

Hamish looked at me with a smile.

"So no begging me to stick around, no currying my favor, telling me how much of a brilliant actor I am?" he snickered.

I gave him this little annoyed look. By now I honestly couldn't tell if he was taking a piss or being dead serious. Either could have been the case with Hamish.

"Are you expecting that?" I responded.

He looked at me for a second and just laughed.

"Not really, just having a laugh," he chuckled.

I tried to laugh along, trying to make my response sound somewhat sincere,

"Well you are a great actor, I can't say that enough," I replied. "Watching you out there I don't see a man past his prime. However I do understand not staying in something you're miserable in."

Hamish's mouth quirked into a smile.

"And when I see you out on that stage I see love, I see a man who adores what he does," Hamish replied. "You know maybe it's time for you to move on too."

I planted a calm gaze on him.

"You already had one sod try to recruit you, how much more of a reputation have you gained?" he continued. "Go for some auditions, see if you can get some better jobs than this? No offense to Colin and no offense to the rest, but blimey Grell you can do so much better; both of us can."

I wanted so badly to ask him where this all was coming from. I had this odd feeling he was telling me this to get me away from Colin. It was a reach, perhaps just paranoia, though something in his voice sounded almost spiteful. I wanted to ask him this so badly, but I knew I'd never get a forward answer.

"I'll admit it, the thought has crossed my mind," I replied.

Hamish smiled wide.

"Though if I do pursue something else it will be in my own good time," I continued.

Hamish's smile relaxed somewhat.

"You do what you need to do, I'll do what I need to do, and we'll meet in the middle," I said. "I'm not loving the thought of losing your presence at Mersey Hall." Or so I said. Why did the very concept take the sound of an opening door? "But it's not like we'll never see each other and like you said you can find other sources of income. Whatever your decision is, Hamish, I will respect it."

Hamish smiled a little then toasted his glass.

"That's certainly appreciated," he said. "I can only say the same thing back."

I toasted my glass as well.

Hamish told me he would have some decision by the close of the current show. I simply said something in affirmation and just let the whole matter be. I didn't know if he really intended to leave or if this was a knee-jerk reaction brought on by getting some stern talking to.

I searched my thoughts to find how I truly felt about the prospect of him leaving Mersey Hall. A part of me as somewhat melancholic, a larger part was almost relieved. If the worst happened, I could tap this crisp well of my beloved theater without the threat of a rotting carcass poisoning the water. It was sad that was now my state of mind regarding Hamish.

We flitted around Lady Marigold's one night, Hamish in a lovely suit and I in my beautiful gown. I got into a conversation with another lady who complimented my dress to the heavens, asking me who made it. I gave her the name of my skilled dressmaker.

"Good luck getting hold of him," another lady quipped from the side. "No one's heard from the blighter in days."

"He's probably with that new boy of his, weren't they going on holiday?" a gentleman in a poofy wig commented from the side, adjusting his monocle.

I didn't think too much on this and Hamish didn't appear to either. Mr. Fields was rather in demand; of course a successful businessman needs several handsome distractions.

A few days later Hamish and I were in some barrister's office tuning up for an after-hours gathering. Our host kept us waiting for a rather long time, after a while we stopped practicing and simply milled around. I found a newspaper off to the side and started reading to kill time as Hamish paced the floor and quietly griped about having to wait.

I skimmed the front page, then turned my attention to the crime announcements for a little more fun reading. As I skimmed through the names of the poor sods convicted of whatever hellish deeds they committed, one entry shoved itself into my brain and immediately conjured a hard breath across my lips.

_Jedediah Fields, convicted of numerous Sodomitical Practices, was on the 19th of April executed at Newgate. He went to the gallows attended by Rev. Thomas Clarke. He spoke words in defence of his detestable unnaturality before the hood was placed over his head and he was hanged from the neck until dead. _

I put the paper down and emitted a pained whimper. My whole body went numb.

"What," Hamish said approaching me. "What's the matter?"

I flew to a stand and grabbed Hamish by the shoulder, shoving the page under his nose. Hamish scanned the page in confusion; then his jaw dropped and his hands shook around the page.

"That's not bloody possible?" he whispered.

"Is there any way in Hades this isn't who I think it is," I whispered back. "Bloody hell, Hamish, please say it's not possible."

Hamish just shook his head, then took a second look at the paper and threw it down on a desk.

"That's today's edition, it bloody happened yesterday. Fuck!" Hamish spat.

I took a frantic look around in case we had any company, but the room was still empty. I squeezed Hamish's shoulder, then heard footsteps toward the door and pulled away from him. Sure enough the door opened, our host merrily bade us to the party. We acted as happy as could be and grabbed our instruments and followed him, giving each other pained glances as we left.

That whole party was a fog. I felt barely able to keep my instrument up; the notes flowed through my fingers by rote with no other passion behind them. We stood in a corner surrounded by merry wankers getting drunk, shaking hands, and kissing backsides. We would look at each other throughout the evening, the look in Hamish's eyes reflected the look in mine; we just wanted to get the hell out of there.

That party seemed to drag on forever. Thankfully we were dismissed with some generous pay and went right home. I immediately heaved to a sit on the bed, everything hitting me all at once. Tears flowed from my eyes and my breath came in heaves.

"We don't even bloody know if that was him," Hamish barked.

"Who the fuck else could it have been?" I snapped through a sob.

Hamish paced the floor frantically. I just thought of that lovely man, how kind he was in helping out my dress together, his loving nature. Then I imagined him being strung up; strung up for no other reason than who he loved and whose body he enjoyed. So many times I had heard stories of guys getting their necks stretched or burned to death or stoned to death on the pillory only for loving another man.

"The fuck is wrong with this country," I whimpered to myself, then I recalled some wise words Hamish gave me a few months ago. "Yeah, this is so bloody rare Hamish! No one ever gets caught!

"Shut your hole, please," Hamish huffed.

I rose from the bed and marched right over to him. Hamish visibly winced and he defensively put his hands out as I rushed over to him, fists balled up and ready to smash into something.

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry," Hamish sputtered. "I didn't mean that, Grell, swear I didn't."

I swung a punch anyway; his hand caught it right away. I kicked him in the shin but I was shaking so hard the impact was weak. Hamish gently put his hands on my shoulders, a stream of apologies coming from him with a few sputters of "I can't believe this." I just fell into his arms and let out breathy sobs.

"I say we go to Lady Marigold's, maybe not tonight but soon," Hamish said softly. "If that came out today more people might know what happened."

I only nodded, accepting his embrace. I just felt numb, a few more tears streamed down my face. Of all the people I actually wept for it was a simple little dressmaker. Then again perhaps my tears did go to the most deserving. The awful, sudden nature of his passing just broke my heart.

Hamish and I took some time to calm down a little. Then I proudly gathered the case with my dress in it and we walked to Lady Marigold's. I found myself looking down every alleyway and eyeing every single passerby. Did anyone have their sights on catching any more sodomites? Was Mr. Fields just the first? I sneered at every dark corner and everyone who even glanced at me.

I didn't give a fuck if I was caught. Let them drag me to away, let them torture me, I would gladly die for being who I was then live in obedient fear trying to be someone else. I did that for most of my life and I would never do that again. I considered Mr. Fields a martyr; he sacrificed his life being who he was, it would be a tragedy for me to forget that. What was that the rag said? His last words were in defense of his "unnaturality?" The bastard went down swinging to the last.

We went into Lady Marigold's; the doorman asked us a few more questions than usual. This told me loud and clear the word was out. The gentleman let us in and we walked into a room with the atmosphere of a tomb. There were a few people dancing around, but more people sat around with bowed heads.

I went back and changed into my dress. As soon as I left the dressing room, everyone was asking: "Oh dear is this one of his dresses?" I proudly answered yes; the conversation would follow with a few solemn words of remembrance. I found Hamish with the hostess, she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief as she spoke of Mr. Fields.

A few stories went around, a few details but no one new how accurate they were. He was missing for nearly a week; no letters, no visits, he wasn't answering his door. No one thought anything amiss; he known to travel quite a bit not to mention he was known for taking long holidays.

Someone apparently spoke to a neighbor of his; apparently the man recalled hearing some struggle in his apartment but didn't pay any mind to it. That was probably the sound of him getting dragged out. No one knew a damn thing until someone saw the announcement in the paper. He was lifted from his home, tossed in jail, convicted, and executed as smooth as clockwork. It was a frightening thought.

Everyone raised a toast to Mr. Fields. So many ladies danced in a line in their dresses he made for them, I enthusiastically joined the line. Somberness was gradually replaced by happy remembrances and bawdy toasts. Hamish and I got drunk with the rest and would wake up the next morning in a collective heap in the middle of the main floor.

We would return home with headaches but fond remembrances. I wanted to keep the mood as light as possible; no dwelling on what became of our acquaintance, only remembering who he was. Hamish knew him longer than I did; I tied to pry some stories out of him but was only getting a few words. Hamish didn't seem to want to talk on him at all; I could only respect this. In fact Hamish wasn't all that talkative for the rest of the day.

Later that evening he went out, saying he was meeting for a practice with some friends he said he would compose with. I sent him off with a polite wave then was left to the silence of the flat. It was a cold evening indeed, here I was all alone with my aching heart and the press of my thoughts. I kept myself as occupied as I could, I even went out later for a few pints and some chats with some lovely gentlemen.

I returned home to find the flat still empty. I settled into bed, then woke to the sound of Hamish stumbling in the room. My bleary eyes and foggy head managed to process the sight of him tripping over his feet and humming to himself, the smell of liquor wafting from him. I just turned back over and would wake up to his snores, seeing him out cold on the floor. He would wake and regain his wits, saying the boys got a little rowdy. By now I was accustomed to such scenarios and really didn't care.

At that moment it was an occasional occurrence, by the end of that week it was commonplace. Hamish barely spent any time in the flat that week and barely any time with me. The first few mornings he would crawl into bed or just blink out on the couch. The next few he would leave right after the show was over and I wouldn't see him until the next night. I didn't even bother mentioning anything and he wasn't saying anything either.

I would wake up the next Monday morning to see him making breakfast, putting a plate right out for me.

"I'm sorry I've been so scarce," he said pouring me some tea. "I've just been all out of sorts lately."

I just took his hand and told him I completely understood, though wondered how sincere I actually sounded. Yes I did indeed understand; I understood his nature by now and how things were. By now I was tired of questioning it. I was tired of confrontations, I was tired of fighting, to be honest I was barely noticing his absence.

He stuck around through the day, though everything was simply polite. There was a little handholding, a couple hugs, but we mostly stayed apart. We went to a job later, then he was right back out with his mates. By the middle of the week we saw each other at playing jobs and the theater. There were polite words between us, a few shoulder pats, but that was it.

I started getting the odd feeling he was avoiding me altogether. I got the odder feeling that perhaps what happened to Mr. Fields scared him; perhaps he didn't want to get caught in his own illegal acts. Perhaps that's all I was to him now, a dangerous good time. It wasn't a warm thought at all. I wasn't exactly going to throw myself at him, let him be a coward if he wanted.

A week later I went solo to another molly house. I danced with this handsome chap who looked no more than twenty. He didn't seem too bright but he had a nice singing voice, a hand in the right place told me he had some nice proportions. A few glances later I was dragging him into a closet and lifting my skirts to await his fat sausage. He was a little ham-handed but most polite. We would return to the party adjusting our clothes and parting with polite words. An hour and a few drinks later I was even willing to massage a cramp for a handsome older chap in a curly wig. He complimented my dress to the heavens; soon he was complimenting my firm buttocks as he plunged his cock between them.

I would change and stumble back home sore but satisfied. I returned home to a predictably empty flat and settle happily into bed, waking only when Hamish returned in the wee hours of the morning and flopped onto the couch. We did actually have tea together the next morning, continuing our usual polite chatter and staying a few feet away from each other. I savored looking into his eyes and thinking on everything and everyone I did the previous night. Now who had a secret to defend?

We went to the theater later, took part in the show, then he left with a quick word about another collaboration. I just gave my nod in parting, he went about his business, I went out for drinks with Sam and Ephraim later then went home. Hamish would return home the next afternoon, not even giving any reason why he was out so long; I barely spoke with him let alone question what he was doing.

After another few days of this I was at another molly house; drinking, dancing, then entertaining two handsome gentlemen at once. We had some lovely exercises; afterward I ended up passing out in a parlor. I woke the next morning sore in some lovely places and still clothed in my dress.

I changed, then returned to home with my dress case in hand. I entered the flat to find Hamish awake and making tea. He just looked at me with a smirk.

"Rough night, darling?" he quipped.

"What can I say, this girl loves to make a scene," I responded.

He snickered a little.

"I'm sure she does," he replied.

I didn't know what to make of that sarcastic tone. I just brushed it off, pouring myself a cup, then gently lowering myself into a chair despite my aches. I looked over to see Hamish observing me the whole time. I swore I saw his little smirk widen a little, then he looked to his cup and blew on the contents. I just ignored it, I didn't give a damn what was going through his head. We did carry on a polite conversation and went about our day like everything was normal.

A few nights later I found myself at George's house knocking back a few pints with his lovely aunt and uncle. Everyone turned in around midnight and I went back home. I approached the door of our flat, then listened for any sounds as I had the habit of. Sure enough what should reach my ears but the shrill panting of a woman in the midst of filthy business, Hamish's grunts mingling with the noise.

I just snickered to myself. I could have been a bastard and opened the door, loudly declaring my presence. What was the fun in that? I spun on my toes and walked in the opposite direction. I found a nice inn that night and slept well. I returned home the next morning to find Hamish out of the house.

I would run into him at the theater later, everything all polite as could be. Right after the show I took off ahead of him, he didn't say a word. I decided to drop by another lovely establishment in my Princely manners. I managed to attract another fair youth and proceed to pound him into the wall.

I returned home that night, finding Hamish gone as usual. I settled into bed and slept well, knowing I would probably hear him stumbling in the flat in the morning if he came by at all. That's how things were now by my estimation; such was how things always would be.

I sighed hard to myself, eyeing the ceiling and this whole collection of lovely instruments mounted on the walls. These were all Hamish's: all his decorations, all his possessions. I had a few contributions, though this whole flat just smelled of his territory. Perhaps it would be best to leave him to his territory; perhaps it was best to make another set of plans.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I am certainly aware it has ben about a month and a half since the last time I updated. I wanted to play with another fic, unfortunately that ended up not happening and I ended up wanting to sort out more stuff with this story. Then I ended up having my busiest work week of the year. After that it took me while to figure out what exactly I was doing with this story. Well folks I have a good idea where I'm going with this, so I'm hoping the next update might be smoother.

Regarding that newspaper blurb about Mr. Fields, I wish I was just making that up. I used the site titled "Homosexuality in Eighteenth Century England"compiled by Rictor Norton as a reference and a baseline for how that article was written. Seriously if you want a glimpse at how bad things were just take a look at that site and there are probably a lot of other resources saying the same awful things.


	59. Part 59

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 59**

Colin gathered us around following a show in mid May with a book in his hand. He took a second before turning it around, building the anticipation. At last he showed us the cover: "Antony and Cleopatra."

A cheer went up from the company. It was a play with which I was only somewhat familiar, though I already knew what role I wanted.

Colin distributed the books, informing us that the auditions would be this coming Wednesday. "A Midsummer Night's Dream" would draw to a close in a week, then it was right into the summer tragedy.

I saw Hamish walk forward in front of everyone, looking down at his copy of the book with a little grimace. Colin gave him a curious glance.

"I feel now is the best time for me to make an announcement of my own," he said.

He looked to his shoes for a bit of a dramatic pause, but I just knew what he was going to say. Stop playing the reluctant hero and just have out with your speech already.

"It pains me to say this, but I will not be joining you for the next play," he declared at last.

Gasps and expressions of confusion, even disappointment went around the circle. I saw Colin's mouth drop open slightly and his brow furrow. I just kept an even expression.

"I know this is a bit sudden and I really have not told too many of my plans," he continued. "However my health has been a little more fragile than I had realized, I have also had a few other matters that have required my attention that will take me away from this lovely theater. I will try to make this simply a hiatus and return to the stage at Mersey Hall when my health and my situation have improved."

Yes, other matters like your drinking and wenching and your frail health meaning how sick you are of Colin. This whole speech was complete bollocks, but I played along with the rest. Everyone showered him with their well-wishes and disappointment to not have him around, but I could see a few forced smiles and hear words of encouragement delivered in fine performances.

Colin gave him a handshake and a little hug, though I could see Hamish moving right along out of there the moment the emotional crescendo of his speech died down. He went off to wherever the hell he was going. I just returned to the flat, it would be tempted to call this a quiet night at home but this place was far from home.

I sank in a chair, knocking back glasses of wine and just staring at the fireplace. Thoughts floated into my mind like pieces of puzzle moving themselves into place. Hamish was leaving Mersey Hall in a week; one significant tie to the bastard would be gone. The rest just required a little leap. My wages at Mersey Hall already proved sufficient. I checked all my accounts last week and fund nothing but prosperity. I just had to put up with one more week; one more week to prepare myself, one more week to set everything in motion.

I managed to start reading over some lines, then turned in for a pleasant sleep; the wine making me feel even more relaxed.

Hamish stumbled through the door in the wee hours of the morning, I heard him crash on the floor; his snoring assuring me he was alive. I floated back to sleep, then woke at daylight to find him still curled up on the floor. He reeked of booze, though I caught this potent scent on him that stuck out a bit more. I knew what that smell was, I smelled it at more than a few parties with Jacob and clinging to a few of our fellow musicians. I just stared down at his pathetic form.

I remember how he gave me this whole supportive speech about how he understood the horrors of opium, how many "friends" he had seen struggle with the demon. I wondered if one of those "friends" was himself. Had he known the horrors of cleaning out? Perhaps he was right back in the demon's jaws, perhaps it was just another form of fun for him.

He remained where he was for another few hours. I kept myself occupied, memorizing a few more lines; occasionally I would look down at him. This whole thing was so fucking pathetic. A voice in my brain told me that perhaps he was in a truly bad way; perhaps I could help him as he helped me through my hell. It was a romantic notion but one that to me did not sound practical.

A tiny part of me wanted to at least inquire, express concerns as a friend. I shrugged off the very thought. Like he'd even listen to me anyway: "How dare you cast your judgment on me," "What, wifey can't let me have a good time?" I could just hear all the chides and taunts. No, I had made my decision already; the least effort I made the easier this whole thing would be anyway.

Hamish eventually stirred from his slumber and peeled himself off the floor. I did put the kettle on, keeping up niceties and all that. I didn't even ask if he had a rough night, I was done even mentioning it. Hamish sat down at the table, too engrossed in his aches to really provide much conversation. I poured cups for the both of us, but even doing this much for him made me ill. He didn't even look at me let alone thank me.

Eventually I brought up one glaring development; at least I had something to make conversation with.

"So you decided to leave Mersey Hall," I said.

He shrugged and sipped his cup.

"You know my reasoning, I simply made my decision," he replied.

I looked at him, then nodded. He just gave me this annoyed little look.

"What are you expecting more speeches, you want to plead with me, I've made my bloody decision," he snapped.

"Me plea for you? That's hilarious," I answered.

"I'm sure."

He put a hand to his head wincing a little.

"Pardon but I am really not in the mood for chitchat right now," he groaned.

I just nodded with a little grimace. He shot me a tired look then went back to his cup.

Hamish gave me a half-hearted apology for his shortness a little later, I gave him a half-hearted "no worries, mate." We managed to do some practicing; Hamish was suddenly in the mood for idle chitchat, I just went along. We later did a job, meeting up with Hamish's other friends. I endured another few hours of smiling politely and playing for a bunch of rich tits alongside people I really didn't want to be next to.

The party ended, we collected our pay, Hamish chatted with his mates the whole time and walked right in their direction toward whatever pub or opium den they were headed for with not even a word to me. I went home and collected my dress and went to another molly house someone had recommended. I spent most of the night drinking; at one point some bloke volunteered his head under my dress to sample the lady's secret. He was so good I let him in the backdoor. Overall it was a good night.

Tuesday I dedicated myself to learning one particular monologue. I wanted everything perfect; I needed a bit of theatrical redemption. I had spent nearly a year slowly crawling my way to the front of the line. This time I wanted that spotlight, I wanted to wrap myself around Marc Antony's character and command the stage.

How ironic was it that I was essentially aiming to play the same character Hamish took on last summer? I couldn't help but laugh with every realization of this. Of course this was a different play entirely, but of course I would play Antony so much better than Hamish. It was a good goal to have.

By the time I left for the theater Hamish was nowhere to be found, typical bollocks by this point. I rehearsed the lines over and over in my head as I inventoried the costumes and touched up some of the paint on the flats. Georgia was already talking about possible costume ideas for the next show. We could use the togas rather easily, but she wanted some more elements of Egyptian styling to go with the play. We discussed some ideas for a few new costume pieces and jewelry, I was already most excited for the audition process but now I was becoming so eager to put more visions together.

The rest of the company came in around 6 as usual. Unsurprisingly Hamish did not make any appearances, he really didn't have any obligation to show up. I overheard a few side comments about the member of our party who was absent.

A few asked me about his announcement, perhaps I knew a little more as his flatmate. I just referred back to what Hamish said: "He just needs a little break," I answered as sincerely as I could. I really did not want any outside questioning. The matter was so fucked up to begin with I didn't need it being the gossip of the moment, though I had a feeling it already was. I just kept my focus on the task at hand.

Colin soon commenced the auditions. I volunteered to go last; I wanted to give a lasting impression. Peter went up first; sure enough he recited the same monologue I had already prepared. He had good form and his delivery had certainly improved since I first saw him, though he was still a little too breathy and weak. Sam also read for Antony, his delivery was maserful; I knew I had some good competition with him. George read for Octavius, I just knew when I heard the first few lines that he had this part. One of our newer members Caroline read for Cleopatra as did Shannon. I actually thought Caroline was the stronger choice; hopefully Shannon would at least get Octavia.

Colin then called me up; I got up onstage with a breath of confidence. I got into character in a second; my lines queued up perfectly in my mind. I took the stage looking flustered, discouraged.

"All is lost; this foul Egyptian hath betrayed me," I started. "My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder they cast their caps up and carouse together like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore!"

Yes, I was thinking a little on Hamish when reciting these lines. It added a good amount of bite to my delivery, though I kept myself from becoming too bitter. After a few more lines my mind was purely in my character and not on myself. I was a wronged commander right then feeling the anger of a deep betrayal and the pain of personal conflict. I kept my performance restrained yet rich; I wanted to make an impression yet not act the fool.

I finished my lines with "What, Eros, Eros!" then paused to reel myself back a bit, bowing then exiting the stage with applause. I walked out so invigorated. I was proud of myself at that moment; I even felt if I did not get that title part I would still be the better. I needed to grow fresh; I needed to enhance my craft free from all extraneous nonsense. I was indeed a pupil in a more agreeable school yearning for more knowledge.

A few others auditioned for their respective parts after me. I savored the different talents, heard all the different speeches. After everything was done Colin said he would have the decisions made by Sunday evening. Readings would start next Wednesday and the whole experience of "Antony and Cleopatra" would commence.

Colin walked up to me later and gave me a pat on the shoulder.

"So you've decided to go for the top part after all," he said with a smile. "Happy to see it, lad. Keep up the good work."

I had an extra spring in my step when I returned later to my present home. I came back in to see an empty flat, a few articles of clothing tossed about told me Hamish had been there at one point. Likely he was off getting soused; better away then here by my estimation. I did go out to a few pubs to toast what a lovely evening I had. I returned to my bed later that night stumbling around quite nicely though with my faculties. The thought of getting blind drunk and collapsing into a heap on the floor made me ill. Perhaps this whole experience would be a nice deterrent for me form ever ending up in that state again.

I awoke to a flat that was just as empty. Despite my slightly aching head I took another look around to see if a certain person stumbled in and was occupying the floor. No one was around at all; I truly was alone here. Interesting how Hamish wasn't even bothering to stumble home, he was just holing himself off wherever he passed out.

After taking some time to leisurely sip some tea and have a light breakfast, I set on the first step of my grand plan. I started packing my things into one trunk, taking everything out of my bureau and cataloging a few odds and ends. I made sure to pack my bank books, my coins, everything that stuck out to me as vital. I also made room for my dress. I was not going to lose another lovely garment, especially one constructed by a dearly departed friend.

I arrived at Hamish's flat six months ago in a carriage that hauled all of my possessions. This time I endeavored to remove a bit at a time. I entered Hamish's space with two large cases and a few odds and ends brought here in a carriage and with assistance from a gentleman. By now I had at least three not to mention that grand dress, all of which I wanted out of here sooner than later.

I put everything back in place after I had packed what I did, if Hamish returned he would see the flat as I left it. I would rather everything looked normal for the time being. I would rather have everything out at once, though physically that would not be an option. Instead I would do this as quietly as possible; not draw any attention to my plans. My biggest concern was him or his friends using this as a reason to tamper with any of my possessions.

By the time I was ready to carry out my last bit, I would do so in front of his face with my official notice of departure. I didn't want to try to work anything out; I didn't want to attempt any more speeches or any more pleas for respect. We were both utterly finished; no declarations were needed. The way we dealt with each other said enough. Words so far had delayed the inevitable and any more were a waste of breath. Hamish was lost in a drunken haze and I was hardly interested in playing his nursemaid or his savior; I had my own flawed self to deal with.

I collected what I could casually carry in my hands, then went a few blocks away to an inn where I paid for a room for the week. I entered what would be my new home: this humble little room overlooking Leicester Square. Here I was again in this simple guesthouse starting my life over again. I dropped off my things then settled them in a little. I wanted this space to look a little lived in as opposed to just dumping off my possessions. After some lunch and a couple pints I was on my way to the theater to take care of my work.

Later in the evening Hamish finally made his appearance. I barely greeted him with a nod though he just ignored my existence. His face was ashen, his unkempt hair and the stubble across his face were most telling.

He entered the theater in a foul mood that just soured by the minute. There was no friendly conversation from him at all; he just greeted people with grunts. He snipped at Georgia for brushing too much powder on him, she just rolled her eyes and snapped a few words back. He must have seen Peter staring at him for he gave him an earful.

Everyone just stayed the hell away from him all night. A few came up to me saying, "Hope we don't have to deal with three more nights of this." Colin just ignored him; I could see a sad look on his face whenever he looked at Hamish. I probably felt the worst for Colin having to see this.

I was curious what Hamish's condition would be onstage, perhaps he could pull himself together to out on a masterful performance. The answer to that question was horrifying to behold. Hamish was a mess out there; his delivery was too rough and he sounded aggravated regardless of the scene.

By the middle he was missing lines and cues. I could just feel the nervous shifting in the audience and hear some of the coughs and snickers every time Hamish opened his mouth. I tried to pull attention away by pumping up my delivery and movements a little during our scenes. I savored the riotous laughter every one of my actions conjured, curiously enough Hamish barely noticed.

At intermission I saw Colin march right up to Hamish looking rather cross, some people watched the stern lecture the boy got, I just focused on getting my next scene ready. It became a little harder to focus when Hamish started yelling back. It was all childish: "get out of my arse" was said at least once. I looked over to see Colin staring at him with the saddest frown I had ever seen.

"For Christ sakes pull yourself together for the rest of the show," Colin sadly declared before walking off.

Hamish shot him this glare.

"Fuck off," he calmly sneered.

This conjured quiet snickers all around, Hamish just looked around the room with his angry face.

He barely pulled it together for the rest of the show; we all carried every scene away from him. He stumbled over most of his lines in his last monologue; it was just painful to listen to. He would exit the stage to applause and a few hisses and jeers from the audience. I pulled everything I had into that final speech to give a better impression to the audience, savoring the cheers I got at the end.

I went backstage to line up for curtain call, seeing people gathered around the dressing room. I took a peek in and saw Hamish hastily collecting his clothes in a bag, face contorted in anger. He had already changed into a shirt and trousers, but he looked like a mess. A few of our fellows pleaded with him to stay around at least through curtain call, others were enjoying the whole show.

I stayed off to the side, watching a little bit of it then shifting my position to get ready for curtain call. Hamish looked over and briefly made eye contact with me. I just gave him a calm look; the corners of my mouth may have been slightly turned up when I did so. He glared at me evilly.

"You got a fucking problem, Mr. Sutcliff?" he barked at me.

"Not particularly, it's clear who does," I said, probably before thinking.

I heard a few ooh's, Hamish then rushed forward and was restrained by a few of our fellows with calls to "get a bloody hold of yourself." I just turned around and got in place.

"Smarmy little poofter," he called.

I heard a few gasps and snickers. I just gave a shrill little laugh and rolled my eyes.

"Everyone get in your bloody places," Colin called, rushing through the room. "Mr. Quinton get out of here and get yourself together!"

"Gladly," Hamish yelled.

He shoved the rest of his things in a bag and rushed out.

"Did you all bloody hear me? Get in places!" Colin yelled to the rest of us.

I clapped my hands to reiterate the point.

"Let's go, you lot," I called.

I looked over to see Hamish rushing out the door; he looked at me again with an ugly glare. I just looked away, hearing him stomp out of the room and to God knows where.

Within a minute we were back in line and hastily regrouped. I saw Abby standing off to the side looking a little upset. I approached her, politely took her hand, offered to go out beside her. Her expression brightened right up and she thanked me, I kissed the back of her hand like a gentleman and lead her into the line beside me.

The company went out for curtain call like nothing happened. Everyone shook off Mr. Quinton's little outburst and did what they do best. The audience was pleased and they gave everyone ample cheers. Then Abby went out, I pranced along beside her, both of us getting wild applause. Hopefully this would be the most applause she ever got this whole run.

We gathered backstage to get ready to go out to meet our public. Colin walked in the middle of the room and put his hands up.

"If anyone asks what became of Oberon, I would appreciate it if you replied with something innocuous; say he became ill," Colin called. "We will clean up this mess later, in the meantime let's show a little courtesy for our colleague no matter how ill tempered he was."

Everyone was agreeable; no one here was vindictive, no one here wanted any trouble. I went out with the rest and yes a few audience members did ask on Oberon.

"He has been a bit under the weather, we told him to rest up," was my reply.

There were a few comments on how poor his performance was and we all were infinitely better than him. No one agreed yet no one debated, we just accepted whatever compliments graciously. I was happy to hear my fellows doing the same.

We returned backstage and started cleaning up. It was obvious who was our main topic of discussion, but no one was really interested in ripping him up…right then at least. Colin came in and called for James, pulling him to the side. All of us were involved in our respective changing and makeup removal, though I knew many ears and eyes were on the two of them.

"I know it has been a while since you played Oberon, would you remember the lines?" Coli asked James.

"Like the back of my hand," James replied with a smile.

Colin nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.

"If you are up for the challenge, I may need you," Colin said.

His tone was soft but it drew everyone's attention. Everyone went quiet and everyone's attention was soon on Colin. Colin then called over Trevor, asking him if he could remember the lines for Quince, the character James was playing now. Trevor replied in the affirmative. Colin looked over at all of us, noticing all the gawkers.

"If Mr. Quinton returns to us tomorrow night in a more pleasing disposition he will go forth as usual," Colin sighed. "If he does not return or if his disposition is as charming as it was this evening then Mr. Packard will be taking the role of Oberon, a role I have seen him shine in."

"While I would rather see the young man return to us, I will certainly take on this responsibility," James replied.

Everyone backstage applauded.

"Let us see how tomorrow evening goes," Colin called.

I ended up following Sam, George, and Ephraim out and we deposited ourselves at a pub. The boys were ranting about Hamish quite nicely, though the whole topic just made me ill. Of course they were asking me what the hell was going on with the lad, I just said I had no idea. I forgot how many drinks it was later when I freely told them about how he's never home, how he comes home smelling like booze and opium.

"If you can keep a secret, lads, I'm halfway out the door," I said at one point, or perhaps I thought I said that and actually said something a bit less polite. "I've had it with his bollocks, I'm hauling my shit out."

I recall getting ample support with a few offers for a place to stay if I needed it. I toasted to this, then we just knocked them back one after another. We left the pub happily drunk singing whatever song or witty phrase came to mind. I remember we all heaped into Sam and Ephraim's flat, I recognized the wood walls and this rustic-looking stove with the image of a farmer plowing his field cast into it.

I think we might have knocked back a few more. I remember waking up on this prickly rug sometime in the morning, my aching head managing to look over and see George a few feet from me crawled up into a groaning ball. I snickered a bit in reaction; getting a light "fuck you" chuckled back at me.

Eventually we managed to peel ourselves from our respective sleeping spots and come to a semblance of consciousness. Sam put the pot on and the four of us gathered around a table holding our heads yet keeping pleasant conversation. I just wanted to stay like this all day, just spend time in the company of friends.

As another hour passed, I started to get a little antsy about completing my final task. The longer my remaining possessions were left in that flat the less secure I felt. I reminded myself I had moved out most of the important stuff, my dress was certainly included with that. Everything else was just bits of clothing and shoes.

I held this thought whilst sipping my cup, then my hand froze. My violin, did I bring it with me? I already knew the answer to that: I kicked it under my bed on Tuesday night after we played that last party. I didn't recall going under the bed since. I continued sipping my cup, trying to keep my nerves even and pretend nothing was going on in my mind.

The last thing I wanted to do was leave this fine company and deal with that arsehole. Odds were he ran to his friends right after fleeing the theater and he was probably still passed out in some hole somewhere. Even if he wasn't, was he in a better mood than the night before? I mulled over the thought, I did want to wait until the end of the weekend to deal with him. Then again would he even be back to the theater tonight? Maybe now was a good time to do the final act. At least I could get my violin and a few other odds and ends, he probably wouldn't even acknowledge my presence.

It was around 10 when I took my leave.

"Time to get the rest of my shit out from that blasted flat," I said.

There were plenty of "good luck" calls from my fellows. All of them actually offered me beds in their respective spaces if I needed them. I could only smile at their generosity, assuring them I did have extra lodgings for the moment.

I left the spacious flat, then took off down the street; the sunlight assaulted my senses but It felt good to be moving a little. I rehearsed every word I would say to Hamish, I knew full well I might be walking into a fight. I cracked my knuckles with a little smile; perhaps he would need a little crimson going away present. I walked as quickly as I could down the street, I wanted to end this once and for all.

At last I reached the building, giddy just knowing this would be the last time I would walk through these halls. I quietly ascended the staircase, then reached the door: listening at first to anything behind it. All I heard was silence; this was a promising start. I put my key in the lock, then opened the door.

I entered the flat and saw nothing but chaos. Clothing was thrown everywhere, chairs were tipped over, a few glasses were smashed against the wall. I tiptoed across the floor, staring at the mess all around. Lying right in the middle of the bed was the man of the hour. The sheets were stripped from his bed and thrown to the side, he lay his head on a pillow with feathers spilling out.

I carefully approached him; he was out cold, the smell of booze wafting from him. He was mostly still, but his mouth was gaping open and taking in air like a fish takes in water. I looked at him, then looked around, then grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. He grunted, his eyes blinked open and he looked at me.

"Fuck you want," he managed to slur. I couldn't tell if he was completely soused or having a bad hangover, perhaps both was true.

"Hamish, what happened to our flat?" I asked in the calmest manner I could.

He managed to toss a pillow at me.

"Our flat? Funny words," he snickered, his eyes slightly opening. "Why the fuck are you still here anyway? You want my arse? Get a bloody clue, poof."

I chuckled. No speeches, no tense conversations, just one simple declaration. Perhaps it was exactly what I needed to hear. It still rubbed against my nerves like a file against baby's flesh.

"You make a very astute point," I replied. "Fortunately I did get the bloody clue. Now tell my why my shit is thrown around?"

"I helped you pack," he chuckled.

His head rolled to the side and it looked as if he drifted back to sleep. Obnoxious snores escaped him.

I stepped back and took scope of the mess. It was soon apparent all of the articles of clothing tossed around were all mine. A few of my cups were smashed on the floor; my clothes were strewn around in piles. I walked toward one of those piles and smelled urine.

I saw one of my cases thrown to the side of the room and picked it up, realizing my hand was shaking. I put it down, then collected the damp piles of clothing; a few nice silk shirts, some brocade waistcoats, all soaked in urine. I managed to open the wardrobe, seeing a few more suits on the floor.

I sorted through my garments, then this little white placard fell to the floor. I curiously picked it up and examined it; it was a piece of white ivory, a Grecian vase springing a fountain carved into it. The realization hit me. I knew what this little ivory card was, it was the inlay on a box I knew contained a few rings. Where the hell was the box this was placed in?

I calmly looked through the rest of the wardrobe, my hands shaking hard and my mind racing. I did a mental inventory of what was in that box; seven gold rings and five brooches; some with jewels, some bearing the inscription of goldsmiths in Paris where I bought them, some bearing inscriptions from London where mum had bought them.

My hands trembled, my breath was coming in heaves.

How long had it been since I looked upon that box? Had I let it lie in this wardrobe forgotten for so long? I left it here unguarded and ripe for the picking. How much were they worth? The pound value made me ill though the simple value of the memories some of them held made my whole being ache.

"Hamish you didn't happen a wooden jewelry box, did you?" I called back.

All I got in response was snoring, every sound just grated even further on me. I paused and took a few breaths. I gently placed the inlay in my trunk, then looked under the bed. Sure enough the violin case was still there and intact. I took it out from under the bed, opened it up, and saw the instrument unharmed. I kissed my fingertips, then placed them on the strings before closing the case.

I finished collecting the rest of my effects, though it did little to still my heart or the blood pounding in my ears. The box and my precious jewels were nowhere to be found. I left my chest and my violin case on the bed, then walked over to Hamish. I took hold of his shoulders and shook him hard again.

"My jewels, arsehole," I growled in his face. "Where the fuck are my jewels?"

No response, just more snoring.

I took a step back, watching his mouth gape open again. I breathed deeply, staring at this pathetic piece of waste lying in front of me. I took a look to the side, seeing his satchel and an instrument case. I walked over to them, throwing open his satchel and searching around.

My fingers then felt one smooth, cool object in the bottom corner; my whole body went numb. I lifted the object, seeing a gold band set with a single emerald. How many times had I put this on my finger for parties? I stared at the ring, then placed it over my finger. My hand then frantically searched the rest of his bag. Nothing, nothing in any pouch or pocket. I even searched through his purse; no rings in there, though he did have a bit of coin.

The story essentially wrote itself; the ring on my finger was one that got lost in his bag. The rest were now sitting in some pawnbroker's shop, perhaps he fenced them to his buddies or perhaps a client. I dropped the satchel, then searched through his violin case but I was too hot to pay any attention to what I might find.

I gently placed it on the floor, then looked at the mound lying in the bed. I walked over, the sight of his face made my blood boil even further. Traitor, thief, drunkard, pathetic waste of flesh. His snores assaulted my very being; here he lies peacefully after playing me so ill. How I wanted to cut him apart, how I wanted to stain this while flat with his blood.

No, that would be too obvious. If anyone actually tried to find him later it would be clear what happened and I had no clean clothes to change into. It would be so much more convenient if he were to just die in his sleep. Here he is as drunk as could be; wouldn't it be a tragedy if he were to just stop breathing, choke on his own tongue, inhale his own vomit.

That would be how he would be found; just like poor Daniel Benton after a drunken Christmas party.

I waited another moment, seeing him completely out of it. I went over to my bed, then gently picked up the pillow and walked back over to Hamish. Poor sod, he had such a promising life. Here he was at twenty-six years of age fresh after nearly dying. Too bad be had to throw away his life on the drink and opium. Too bad his friends now hated him and the ones he had left just ruined him even further. A pity he had such a beautiful love affair that he destroyed. He would go to God right as his lover walked out with his trunks.

I walked over to the door, making sure it was closed and fastening the lock. A tiny voice in my mind begged me to reconsider; that voice was only a wisp over the air and gone like candle smoke. I walked over to the bed, the pillow in both my hands. Hamish was still out cold; I saw a small stream of spittle from the corned of his mouth.

My hand gently moved his head up from the side. He just snorted a little and waved his hand. I gave it another minute on the clock; he stayed in his position. I looked up, wondering if I could see the reaper beside him. Alas all I saw was air, no this job was indeed mine.

I positioned the pillow above him, trying to enjoy the sight of his living face one last time. Instead that pale, drooling, unshaven visage pained me even more. I pushed the pillow over his face and pressed down hard. I got ready for his hands to flail up or his body to jerk. Neither happened, I could barely see the outline of his face through the pillow the harder I pressed. He just lay there.

I straddled his body, sitting on his chest, and pressing harder. I could feel his ribs spasm as his lugs tried to draw in air, but it was a weak reaction. I pressed my bottom harder against his chest and pressed the pillow down harder. I mentally begged him to struggle, in my mind I screamed at him to fight back, don't go out like a coward. He just stayed still.

I felt his heart beat hard in his chest, the pumping right over my nether regions. I actually gave out a little sigh. His body was right under my sensitive clothed flesh and burning hot. I was feeling his body dying right under me, I could feel my trousers tightening and my flesh tingling.

I bucked over his ribcage, his sternum pressing against my lower area. Oh dear God that felt good. My hands took a firmer position on the pillow as my hips thrust my clothed self over Hamish's dying body. I just continued to thrust and rub, feeling the occasional twitch and savoring how his ribcage jerked and his heart pounded. I made sure to keep quiet, allowing only soft sighs to escape my lips.

I rode my own wave, realizing his heart was pumping weaker and his muscles were stilling rapidly. He was dying right underneath me, it made me rub even harder against him. I pushed the pillow down with even more force. I felt a few beats from his heart then everything stilled. His ribcage was still, his heart was still, he only moved with the force of my pumping.

I let out a hard sigh and spilled in my underbritches. My grip loosened on the pillow and I sat back a little getting my bearings. I took some deep breaths, then gently removed the pillow from his face. His eyes were still closed, though a trickle of blood ran from his lips. I placed my hand on his neck, feeling neither a pulse nor any intakes of air. My hand was soon over his face and felt no breath from his mouth.

I stared at him, seeing his flesh now ashen. I leaned down and planted a kiss on the side of his mouth.

"Sorry it had to end this way, darling," I cooed.

I gradually climbed off him, then took another reverent look down. He looked as someone who had died of the drink. The blood down his mouth could be explained as his organs revolting. I did take a brief look under his shirt, making sure I didn't go too rough on him. Thankfully there were no bruises that I could see. Out of all the times I had enjoyed his body, this may have been one of the gentlest.

I noticed the pillow had a few trickles of blood on it. For a moment I grew nervous, but then realized this as easily remedied. I removed the torn pillow from underneath his head and tossed it over to my bed, then I gently laid his head down on the stained side, turning his head over to stain the pillow even more right over that one spot. Perhaps they would think he had a fit as he died.

I stepped back, evaluated the scene, then decided it was time to collect my things and be out of there.

I took my trunk and my instrument case, then blew a kiss to Hamish as I walked to the door, unlocked it, and walked out. No one was in the hallway, I simply closed the door behind me and walked away. Soon I was out of that godforsaken building and approaching my new life.


	60. Part 60

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Warning: This chapter contains references to rape as well as fantasized necrophilia. Reader discretion is advised.

**Part 60**

The innkeeper was kind enough to provide me with a laundry bag and the name of a decent washerwoman just a block away. I thanked him and walked out carrying a small case bearing said bag of soiled clothes.

I walked a short way down the street slipped into an alley, removing the bag from its case and tossing the case in with some scrap piles of wood, then walking back to the main thoroughfare. That case was unsalvageable in my view. The stench of urine soaked through every inch of cloth and leather; that thing wasn't even worth the attempt at cleaning.

Even if a decent tanner could get the stench out, I would always smell it. Like Lady Macbeth's damn spot, the smell of drunken piss would always be there. It was a fitting last reminder of darling Hamish. I just needed to remember this bag also bore the underbritches I wore in my final moments with the wanker. The thought put a smile on my face.

I found the shop of said washerwoman, a Mrs. Hutchins I believe, and presented the pungent bag with ample apologies.

"I am so sorry to be leaving this mess with you," I regretfully sighed. "One of my guests got too drunk and unruly, he certainly will be footing the bill for this."

It wasn't entirely a lie, the one responsible paid most gravely. I kept myself from chuckling at this thought and maintained my regretful demeanor.

The lady took the bag with no reaction, simply telling me when my clothing would be available and how much it would cost. I gave her an extra tip for having to deal with such an embarrassment, then I walked out of the shop with ample thanks.

A church clock in Leicester Square tolled noon when I stepped on the street. I had another two hours before I was expected at Mersey Hall, though I did intend to come in a bit earlier for a chat with Colin. I had spent the past few hours going over every line in my head, getting the whole story right with the perfect amount of emotion to fit the part. Not all of it would be an act, I was more than a little nervous about some of the things I would say to Colin; I was still debating if some details should leave my lips.

I walked around the streets, savoring the breeze through my hair and the general thrum around me. Not even a mile over a man lay dead in his flat. The cold figure of Hamish Quinton was settled in bed as if sleeping. How long would it be before someone noticed his absence? Mersey Hall wouldn't be expecting him after my coming speech, I guessed his friends would be the first ones to notice he wasn't at their usual pub or opium den. Perhaps he wouldn't show up to a performance. The thought occurred to me that I might not have locked the door behind me when I left. It was a trifle matter as far as I was concerned, it might mean someone would find him sooner.

I tried not to think on that box of my jewels that was now vanished in thin air, I tried not to think on how he pawed through my things and made away with some valuable possessions. Were there any more trinkets I would find missing? By now I had accepted that such would be the case, though to be honest my anger was sated. The memory of the feeling of the pillow against his face, the lovely ways his body twitched, and those last beats of his heart were more than enough recompense.

Occasionally I played the words, "Oh God what have I done?" through my head to see if they meant anything. They didn't; the thought conjured nothing resembling remorse or guilt.

How many times did I tell myself these last few months that I did not want to leave his body somewhere? How many times had I avoided causing him physical harm? If any thought conjured regret that was the one. I should have done him a favor so much sooner, perhaps I would still have my things, perhaps he would have gone out with a measure of dignity. No, he had his appointed time; the Reaper comes when he is good and ready.

I imagined the invisible, robed figure looming over him. Did Death get an amusing view of Hamish's final moments? Did I provide some entertainment? Maybe I made Death randy, if that was at all possible.

I could still feel the warmth of his body and the spasms of death over my sensitive lower parts. His heart was pounding, his lungs naturally searching for the breath I was denying him. I looked down briefly to see I was getting a little tent in my trousers, perhaps it was best if I go back to my room and remedy this.

I returned to my new home and laid myself down on the bed, trousers on the floor, wand in hand, and mind recalling every lovely last moment with Hamish. Perhaps I should have gone further, had one last hurrah while he was still warm; he might have been a bit messy, somehow that thought did not bother me.

I closed my eyes and imagined pulling down his trousers and ramming him. I would prop him up and do the filthy deed, he would just lie there; his soul in the next life and his shell of a body left for my pleasure. I would ram him as he rammed me, getting the final say at last. I imagined the blood flowing down his pale lips, his face still in beautiful death. The very thought gave me that last shiver and grunt.

I lay in bed for a moment letting my senses return to me, savoring that pretty little last image I had of my bastard beloved. Soon I was up, cleaning off, and readying myself for that early trip to Mersey Hall and a hard conversation.

I walked to the theater going over my lines and reactions in my head. I was not fond of the thought much of this would be a performance for Colin. I really didn't want to play for Colin in this respect and hated every time I did. This time the dead body I would neglect to mention to him was one of a formerly dear friend, a man he worked so hard to reclamate was now dead because of me.

I corrected the statement the moment it came through my head: Hamish was simply dead, if I hadn't killed him who or what would have? The only lying I had to do was the very fact I knew Hamish was dead. Now was the time to push such knowledge from my head; I was the wronged lover…no the wronged friend who had just left his trusted flatmate after a string of abuses. That's what I would confide in Colin.

I had all my lines in order when I approached the theater around quarter past one. The door was open and a few others were milling around getting themselves ready. I found Colin immediately then asked for a private chat. He obliged, pulling me into his office and closing the door. The office was away from the main areas of the theater; last I saw no one was around. Now I wondered if it was possible to say something in absolute confidence with no eavesdroppers. I collected my lines, then looked at Colin's concerned face. The practice was unraveling a bit; perhaps this would be mostly improvisation.

"I needed to speak to you about Hamish, or rather keep you abreast of some goings on," I started.

He slowly nodded.

"You have my confidence, Grell, that I swear to you," he replied in a tone akin to a warm blanket wrapping around me.

I sighed, my words freezing on my lips. How much of his confidence did I have? I had no intention of saying certain things, though perhaps they needed to be said. Perhaps I needed to have this measure of trust in him. If he betrayed me then I knew where he stood. I took a hard breath; if I suffered the worst from him breaking my trust then it was meant to be. I was sick of hiding.

I leaned over the desk looking around; he leaned closer.

"No one can hear us, son, these walls are thick," he replied.

I nodded, ready to have out with it at last.

"I will count on your confidence, Colin," I whispered. "I shall preface this with some truth that I would rather not hide anymore. Hamish and I have been lovers."

I said it; the words were now in the air to Colin Avery's ears. I looked at Colin; he smiled a little and nodded.

"In truth, I figured that," he whispered back.

I let out a small sigh of relief. It was indeed out.

"I know Hamish, I know what he likes, it was a strong guess." Colin said. "I swear to you, Grell, you will have no judgment or protest from me. Everyone has their own business, everyone has what makes them happy."

I let out a hard breath and looked to the ceiling, then back at Colin.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me," I replied.

"You probably figure that is why I gave you that warning," he responded.

"I knew that was it exactly."

"If I have any concerns it is that you were drawn in like so many others."

"And I was. Though I shall confess further Hamish is not the first man I have ever been involved with in that respect. If your concern was my innocence in such circumstance, worry not."

I saw him give his own little sigh as he nodded.

"I confess that was what I had feared, though I still do not enjoy seeing my friends taken advantage of."

"And such was what I fell victim to. He was so charming, so caring in the beginning, then that all went to hell."

Colin rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Hamish and I are no more," I declared. "In the past week, ever since he announced his departure, I had been packing my things and arranging other lodging. As of this morning I do not have one single possession in his house; our ways are officially parted."

Colin shook his head and looked at me thoughtfully.

"I am so sorry, Grell. Where was he when you did this"

"Passed out cold in the bed. I spent the night with some of the lads, then went home to find my possessions thrown around the flat, some of them pissed on. Hamish gave me a few unkind words encouraging my departure before falling back to his stupor."

"Oh Christ," Colin groaned, rubbing down his beard.

"Indeed," I replied evenly.

Colin gave another profound headshake and contemplated the wall. He certainly looked aggravated, though I saw a look of grave disappointment.

"Unfortunately this is not a new story, though one I had hoped I would never hear again," Colin said. "Not only am I hearing this again I fear it has only grown worse."

I looked over at Colin with a grimace.

"This was the way it was before, wasn't it?" I asked with a sigh.

Colin slowly nodded with his own grimace.

"Many young actors get into music and theater and come to enjoy the attention more than the craft," he started. "A few times onstage, a few moments of adulation and they think they own the world. Then they're getting pulled into debauchery, they start to think they are indestructible. That is Hamish in spades."

I listened, though I shifted a little uncomfortably. I had a feeling I was being given a subtle lecture; perhaps it was indeed a lecture I needed.

"I met him when he was around your age; this fresh lad ready to take on the world. He was a natural talent; I heard from my fellows that he needed little coaching. Apparently he studied music since he was a boy, rumor has it he was apprenticed to a violin maker."

"Truly," I replied. "I know he would be sent broken instruments to fix up, he always did a damn good job at it."

I realized I should be careful to what tense I referred Hamish. To many uses of past tense could get a little suspicious.

"Oh yes, that was something he has been renowned for," Colin replied with a nod. "After a while if you even referenced his former trade he would get rather cross. I believe at one point he felt such work was beneath him. He moved onto so much better things, though perhaps that was something he had to lean on."

"Almost dying will humble a person," I said, mentally relishing the irony. "Or at least for a while."

Colin grimaced and nodded slowly; I saw the pain in his eyes.

"He was always a nice lad; always social, always personable," Colin continued. "His undoing is his pride, combine that with too many drinks and he becomes a nightmare to deal with. He knows how to curry the right favor but he also knows when to cash in his clout. God forbid you speak up to him or voice any concerns. Then you become the one holding him down, you become the adversary."

"Then you become the harpy who's tying him down," I added. "I've heard this before, especially from his friends."

"Oh yes, all the friends who have benefited from his existence, or all the carefree boys pulling him along in a life of debauchery. Believe me I've seen these friends of his. They do nothing but curry his favor and inflate is ego. He listens enough to these hangers on that his head swells even more."

"Those are the ones," I said with a laugh and an enthusiastic nod. It felt so rewarding to hear this.

"At his worst he expects everyone to toe his line," Colin said. "He has cowed more than a few directors and costars to his whims. I know you saw him attempt that after the show started."

I gave a dark chuckle. One conversation came to mind that probably should have been kept to myself. Instead I opened my mouth right up; it was time for honesty after all.

"The next morning after that little diatribe I got a stern lecture on how a 'proper director' would have told me not to steal the show from the lead," I said.

"Yes well a decent director would have told you to tone it down, and I did just that," he replied. "Though Hamish's version of a 'decent director' is anyone who will let him do what he wishes. God, I have heard a few stories floating around; the fact the boy was in demand and an enviable talent kept him onstage. At one point he had enough weight to throw around; that was until he fell ill.

"After he recovered he was a different person; more polite, more cooperative. He didn't touch a drop of liquor, he talked so much about going to church regularly and being back in contact with his family again; such a lovely turnaround. I offered him an opportunity in our company because he was a friend and I know he had debt collectors knocking at his door."

I kept a straight face, though that one fact explained a lot. He was in the hole, yet somehow he had enough money to buy me that nice dress and all the booze one could afford. Perhaps he was finding other sources of income on the side. Perhaps I had actually paid for that dress only in a roundabout way.

"I knew all the stories, I knew how he was with other directors," Colin continued. "I was still willing to take a chance on him, and it paid off, at least for a while; at least while he was in his good temper. I had hoped beyond hope he was indeed straightening himself out, that he was truly humbled by his brush with death. Apparently that was short lived. Maybe the boy didn't learn, or maybe there's a harder lesson in store for him."

There certainly was and I was the one destined to deliver it. Hamish Quinton crashed at last; he met the ultimate fate intended for him in the most appropriate way possible.

"Hopefully he will realize how much he is losing now," I added. "He's squandered the favor you did for him, he squandered our love, I can only pray he realizes that."

Hopefully his soul realizes that in the afterlife.

"Truer words were never spoken," Colin said with a nod.

My character then had a profound realization. I sighed hard and put my head in my hands, acting out my frustration.

"The question is does he realize that now?" I groaned. "Unlikely, though I am not relishing the thought of dealing with him in general. What if he comes by tonight?"

Colin straightened up and gently clasped my forearm.

"If Hamish does indeed show his face here tonight, I will be the one to deal with him," he said. "I will not have any quarrels or strife in my theater. Hamish is my friend, but the last thing I want is for my other friends to be hurt any further by his malcontent. Given his behavior last night I personally doubt Mr. Quinton will be making any appearances tonight."

"I certainly hope not," I sighed. "If he could only hold on through three more nights."

"He burned out quicker than I think he even anticipated."

Truer words were never spoken indeed.

"James will be in a little earlier to go over some blocking and delivery, I expect he will be taking Oberon for the remainder of the production," Colin declared.

"I believe you said he played that part before," I replied with a smile.

"Many, many times and he's always been a master. I'll have the book on hand though I am quite sure he remembers every single line. You two will have to go through some lines together before the show to get everything together."

"It would certainly be a pleasure."

"If Hamish does indeed show himself, I cannot guarantee he will get his part back. I will need to hear some significant apologies, to not only this company but also you personally, and he had better be in a much better state before I even allow him past the lobby."

I nodded with great understanding. Fortunately for everyone such an appearance would not be happening tonight.

Colin took a look at the clock and back at me.

"Now I believe it is time for you to put the final touches on tonight's show," he said. "As I said James should be in earlier, likely around 5. Abby will be in a little earlier too for the same reasons."

I nodded then clasped his shoulder hard.

"I cannot thank you enough, Colin, for being such a good friend," I declared with a relieved sigh.

"I will do whatever I can for my close friends," he replied. "I know you have little reason to trust the world, though I only hope I can earn your trust. I swear to you, Grell, you have nothing to fear or doubt from me."

I nodded hard.

"There are no words for my appreciation, Colin. I will trust your word."

I left the office, taking a careful look around to make sure no one was around or skipping off after eavesdropping. No one was around; I rejoined my fellows and got everything together for the show. I was wary of any sideways glances or any whispers about buggerers in our midst. I neither heard anything of the like nor saw anything amiss, my dealings with everyone were normal.

Around 5 James indeed came backstage. I pulled away from my work and greeted him with a warm handshake. Colin soon joined us with the book and we went back to rehearse a few scenes. James put a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes.

"Lad, I want you to be as raucous as you can be tonight," he said with a wide grin. "Be the jester, put Oberon in his place."

My eyes widened and my mouth formed into a huge smile.

"Be careful what you wish for," I chuckled.

James laughed and patted me on the back.

We went over a few key scenes. James knew every line, barely looking at the book. His delivery was impeccable and his timing was masterful. Colin went over a little blocking, James and I found a rhythm and came up with a few places to improvise.

Abby showed up around quarter past five. I was watching her demeanor, seeing if she was in any way heartbroken over the possibility of Hamish's absence. She wasn't at all, she seemed barely fazed by the thought and rehearsed a bit with James. I thought they made a truly lovely pair.

The rest of the company slowly made their way in at the usual time. I got some costumes ready and watched the door every time I heard it open. Every time a figure entered the dressing room I immediately imagined Hamish's face, then I would see Peter or Sam or anyone else. I imagined Hamish walking in like any other night. I then imagined him stumbling in, skin ashen and the sides of his mouth caked in dried blood. He would enter half dead, though not knowing anything was amiss. Or he would enter and march right up to me to throttle me.

Strange fancies only, none of it was real. I left Hamish as dead as dead could be. I took deep breaths and pulled my head back into reality. Banquo's ghost wasn't going to join the party tonight; I had to remind myself of that many times.

George and Ephraim did eventually walk up to me and quietly asked how it went. I just gave them a stiff smile.

"It went and now I'm out," I replied. "I'd rather leave it at that. Personally I'm hoping he won't bother to show up, though Colin said he won't allow any strife tonight."

"He won't show," George said. "He's burned his bridges enough, he'd have to be an idiot or a true penitent to show and I doubt he's either."

By quarter past 6 James was getting into his new costume. James was nearly Hamish's size, Hamish's robes fit perfectly on him. I could only picture those robes as a borrowed death shroud.

I saw Colin going back and forth between the dressing room and the hallway toward the lobby. I knew he was on the lookout for Hamish. Hopefully he would realize soon Hamish wasn't coming. Everyone was speculating whether the blighter would show himself, few had a kind thing to say about him.

Serves him right I suppose, though perhaps their tune would be changing when they learned of his tragic fate. I wondered how long it would be before word got out, or even how long it would take for him to be found. Perhaps this would be a test of how many bridges remained and how many had been laid to waste.

By half past the hour Colin went right into the dressing room and stayed there. It was clear by then who would not be walking among us. Everyone was speculating what the hell he was up to. I did tell my companions of the previous night he was passed out in the bed when I left him; maybe he's still there or maybe he went to drown more of his sorrows.

Right before the show Colin gathered us round for the obvious announcement.

"I believe it is safe to say at this point that Mr. Quinton will not be joining us this evening, and it is likely he will not be here for the remainder of the show," Colin announced.

I saw a few smirks around the room and heard some light snickers and sighs.

"I recommend we move on and get back to our work. Speculation can be a brutal game. I know he did not leave us on good terms, but I would recommend not too many words speaking ill of him. That accomplishes nothing; Mr. Quinton has done the rest. If anyone does see him enter the theater, fetch me immediately and I will deal with him. Tonight and likely through Sunday Mr. Wilton will be taking the role of Oberon and for that we thank him for his efforts."

Everyone applauded, many patting James on the shoulder. James gave a grand bow and smiled.

"I want these last few nights to be joyous ones, give no thought to any previous strife, let us finish out this show in the highest of spirits. Sunday evening I will be announcing the cast of 'Antony and Cleopatra.' Now go out there and conjure some laughs."

Applause went up around the room; everyone was joyful now. It was a new night, it was time to do what we do best.

At the start of the play Colin went out on stage to announce the casting change. I listened from backstage for any reactions from the audience, though I heard none, or at least heard none from where I was. Colin left the stage and the audience applauded as usual. I took a hard breath and honed my focus, outing all thoughts on the task at hand.

I was in my usual places for Puck's opening scene, then I saw those billowing green robes emerge from the side. My mind expected to see that mane of stringy black hair, instead I was almost surprised to see James' close-cropped white hair around a shining bald spot. I had to remind myself who I would be working with tonight.

I shoved my thoughts down deep and took on the clown's mantle. James wanted me to be raucous and he would get it in spades. I mocked him when his back was turned, leaned in too close when it appeared he wasn't looking. He would go about his scene, though occasionally snapped a stern gaze over to me and I would back right off. The audience loved it.

Sometimes I would inch in too close, James would be in the middle of his dialogue and a hand would snap up and gently grab my throat or shoo me off. All of it was so perfect; we worked so bloody well together. I only wish Hamish could have been so good humored.

We would go backstage for intermission with happy nods and friendly glances, both of us coming up with some last minute ideas. When Oberon scolded Puck for anointing the wrong eyes, James approached me with cold rage; I cowered back and took a few feigned kicks like a sniveling dog. His calm was the main difference between him and Hamish. He was truly in character; he wasn't swiping wildly at some out of character slight. I was practically on my knees when Oberon stormed off; then I leapt with a cackle. The audience ate it all up.

Spirits were so high by the end of the show. James and Abby were perfect in their last scenes together. The contrast between Abby's soft youth and James' elder state could have been jarring, though they indeed played the quarrelling yet loving old couple perfectly; they were just so charming.

At last I was the only one left onstage. I delivered my last monologue in high spirits, I felt so relaxed and so free to give the best performance. I delivered my last line, then bowed to the audience before skipping off behind a roar of applause. I went backstage to a group of jolly people. After the drama of the previous evening, everyone was so relaxed and happy.

We went out for curtain call, I soaked in all the adulation I received. Then James and Abby walked behind me, I heard wild applause. For the first time this whole production Oberon and Titania were truly lauded. I truly felt so happy for both of them. We took our bows and left the stage, all of us in such a lovely mood.

James attracted a small crowd out in the lobby later. I so enjoyed watching the man greeting an enthusiastic public; it felt so much better than savoring the lack of admirers around Hamish. Naturally I had a good crowd around me as well. A few people did ask what became of the previous Oberon, I simply told them he had been in ill health.

Later at the pub Colin raised a toast to James' fine performance and to the beginning of the end of "A Midsummer Night's Dream." A few did make a polite toast to Hamish with the hopes he would have his happiness. I enthusiastically raised my glass to this. Thankfully that was the last of the talk about Mr. Quinton for the evening. I was pleased with how everyone showed a measure of politeness for the boy, or perhaps everyone was sick of the mere mention of him.

I drank until I was pleasantly relaxed; I was in such a good mood right then. Later in the evening I returned to my little guestroom and fell right on the bed. It was small, it smelled a little musty, but this was my own space.

There would be no more worries about what mood Hamish would be in when I returned to the flat, there was no more mental strife, there was no more fear of what would become of my possessions around unfriendly company. I breathed a heaving sigh of relief, feeling a few tears stream down. It was over; I could start my life anew, perhaps much wiser.

I enjoyed a relaxing Saturday, taking in some good food and conversation in the pub around lunchtime. I went to the theater later in a good mood and excited to do another evening onstage with James. Occasionally I did wonder if Hamish had been found yet, though I pushed out the thought before it could become a significant worry. Instead I focused on getting the flats and the costumes ready for the next two nights.

The company rolled in around 6, I still saw Colin moving back and forth between the lobby and the dressing room. He was still on the lookout for Hamish; I figured this was a precaution. I wondered if he silently hoped Hamish would make an appearance, perhaps he wished for Hamish to come by and profoundly apologize for his sins. His wish would never be granted; I made damn sure of that.

How would he react to the truth? Now that was a heavy thought, another one I put right out of my head. He didn't know yet, that's all that mattered. I couldn't help but feel a little twinge of guilt at how Colin might take the news. He cared for the boy, though the news that he drank himself to death shouldn't be a surprise. By quarter before 7 Colin stayed backstage and fully into his duties. He knew Hamish wasn't coming tonight.

James was masterful the previous night, though tonight he was even more spectacular. He had his footing now and what came out was pure theatrical gold. We were madmen onstage and the audience adored it. The applause we got at the end was deafening, and once again James received much of it.

I went to the pub with the rest and pounded back pint after pint, thankfully leaving on my own power yet stumbling more than a few times on the journey back to my room. I managed to get in the door and pass out on the bed.

Sunday was much of the same, though I found I was looking over my shoulder a little more. Hamish's little friends would have noticed he wasn't joining them at the pubs last night, how much time would it take before thy made a stop at his flat. I knew if Hamish was found I was going to be the first person interested parties would want to have a chat with, whether his friends or a constable.

This was the first time someone's unexpected death led straight to me on an official capacity. Yes Harlowe the whore speculated my connections to Reg, though to the law I was just another dumb kid with a friend who snuffed himself. This time I was the flatmate of the deceased who was conveniently gone when the corpse was found.

I left no marks on Hamish and no one would see anything but a body lying peacefully behind. I was sure anyone with any connection to Hamish knew his carousing habits and the way our relationship imploded. No one would suspect anything of the former friend who got sick of his attitude. Perhaps my only worry would be if someone breathed a word about suspected sodomy. That would lead to trouble, though perhaps Hamish's friends would want not want to tarnish his memory.

I readied my performance in the inevitability I was approached about the matter. I thought of ways to conjure some tears all the while preparing my story about how I moved my things from the flat whilst he laid passed out in bed. The script was ready but this would all rely on improvisation. In the meantime I did my best to push the whole thought out of my head.

I entered Mersey Hall a bit cautiously, not knowing if I would see any uniformed men waiting for me at the door. Everything was clear and I went about my business as usual, scolding myself for this silly fear. I wondered if Colin would look for Hamish again tonight. Sure enough I saw him going out to the lobby just before the rest of the players were to arrive. I tried not to watch him as I got myself ready for the show.

By 7 Colin was staying in the dressing room. He knew Hamish wasn't coming back, I swore I saw a slight look of disappointment across his features; or perhaps I was just imagining it. Perhaps this was the smidgeon of guilt I bore for killing Hamish. Perhaps my conscience knew if it couldn't make me feel a damn thing over the act itself it could smack me for what effect my actions had on those I care for.

It was a good tactic, I gave my brain credit for trying though I countered that with some logic. What if Hamish were to come here in a drunken stupor with all his arsehole friends meaning Colin harm? What if Colin was summoned to testify at Hamish's trial after he did something truly stupid? What if Hamish was found dead in his bed regardless or dead in an alleyway? Colin was already dealing with the pain of Hamish losing himself and it was destined to only get worse. In the end I put Hamish put of his bloody misery. The thought put my mind at ease, I truly did everyone a favor.

All of our thoughts were on making this last night of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" absolutely spectacular, not to mention who would be cast for the coming drama. I had been so preoccupied over the past few days I barely thought on my coming part. Perhaps it saved me much worry and I would truly appreciate whatever part I was given.

Colin gathered us for one final prayer for the closing of the show, adding a word asking God for Hamish to find his happiness. We got into places. The energy backstage was high; everyone was most excited. I endeavored to put everything into this last performance. I didn't care about propriety or even taste right now, I wanted everyone to remember me.

I cleared my mind as I went out onstage. The moment I opened my mouth I began a performance that was pristine yet hardly polite. I knew the varying degrees of playing the idiot and I used every one of them. I knew James could tell what I was doing and ramped up his own performance a bit to match it. Everyone loved all of it. My soul was on fire through the whole evening.

I almost expected a few scoldings or sideways comments when I got offstage for intermission, instead everyone was praising me for everything I was doing. Colin gave me a couple pointers but encouraged everything else. I would go on for the rest of the night as a demonic sprite; a true black fairy up to absolute mischief. At the end of the show I started to lower my energy a bit, enough to put the perfect touches on my final monologue.

At the end I gave my usual bow, then skipped off behind a gale of applause. I went backstage and took a heaving breath, I cannot describe the feeling of satisfaction I had right then. I even got applause from my fellows, I saw Colin in the back clapping like mad.

We lined up for curtain call, I went out and decided to try a cartwheel; I knew I would land flat on my face but I didn't care. By the grace of whoever I made the full turn and landed on my feet for the perfect bow, everyone loved it. I was pelted with thrown flowers, the volume of the cheers made my ears ache; it was the greatest pain I had ever experienced.

James and Abby came out a moment later to their own applause; the response they received was strong though nowhere near as loud as what I received. When everyone was out we all linked hands and did the final bow; more flowers flew to the stage. We then all left with the wave of cheering behind us.

So many people came up to me in the lobby later, so many ladies asked for my autograph and tried to sneak a feel of my hair. I swore one gentleman even snuck a caress of my red locks, I could only smile a little at this.

At last we returned backstage, Colin was there with his list in his hand. We all gathered around him like excited children waiting for Father Christmas to hand out gifts. He pensively looked down the list almost to torture us. At last he started to read.

"The role of Marc Antony shall be played by the actor known as James Warren, or better known to us as Grell Sutcliff," Colin announced.

I leapt in the air and gave a loud cheer. I believe I was jumping around a few more times, though a few pats on the shoulder brought me back to ground. My bliss only strengthened, I felt I could conquer the world.

Cleopatra was one of the newer girls named Sarah, she did marvelously as Helena in the past show and was well deserving by my estimation. When her name as announced I took her hand and kissed the back of it like a gentleman, prompting a few claps. Colin read down the rest of the list, though I barely paid attention. I had my prize, I was satisfied with the world.

Colin pulled me aside as we all cleaned up. He wanted to have a chat with me on Tuesday about my backstage duties, clearly as the leading man it wouldn't be appropriate for me to change sets. He wanted to talk a little about what backstage work I did want to do, though he said he wanted to get some of my ideas on sets ahead of time. I was certainly agreeable, in the meantime I could pull together a few ideas.

We gathered at the pub later and celebrated a wildly successful show. Colin said it was one of the highest grossing shows we have ever had, this might make us able to buy some better costuming material and perhaps a bit more paint for the interior. I don't know why this announcement irked me, I just know it rubbed me the wrong way for some reason. No, I know why it bothered me; Hamish's lingering words about a "sinkhole" somehow stuck in my brain. Perhaps that would be his lasting legacy.

At the beginning of the night I was raising a few glasses in celebration. After a few hours I was just pounding them back because I felt like it. I wanted to drown out everything and just feel completely oblivious. I woke the next morning in one of the lovely rooms at the inn with a pleasant headache and was able to lean over the chamber pot just in time for my stomach contents to evacuate. This was well deserved by my estimation.

I returned back to my guestroom later and enjoyed a quiet day. I tried not to think on if Hamish had been found yet, by now I was tired of speculating. By now he was probably in his grave and no one gave a damn, why should I?

At one point in the day I picked up my violin and played a few notes from memory. Normally this act would relax me, this time however every note grated against my being. I paused numerous times trying to clear my head of a few unwanted memories. Still every time I picked up that bow I could only think on being in front of a bunch of rich fucks. Sometimes I swore I heard a note in harmony and looked over excepting to see that stringy black hair cascading over a fiddle.

I eventually put the instrument down and put it back in its case with a hurt sigh. Bloody hell could I not even enjoy playing music now? That wanker deserved getting snuffed for this alone.

I tried my best to keep occupied that day. I started on my lines, though my concentration did not hold. By dinnertime I took a walk around the West End, finding my eyes trailing over every poster and board for every theater. I eventually ended up on Drury Lane and right in front of the Theatre Royal itself. A few crowds were milling in and a lad sold tickets in front of the door.

I took a look at one of the posters, seeing a grand illustration of a handsome actor and his leading lady. For a moment I imagined what an illustration of myself would look like on one of these posters. I saw myself in a handsome costume, red hair cascading down; I imagined myself looking back at my young face. I snickered despite myself and kept walking on.

The sun had barely set when I found myself at a loud molly house in my lovely dress. I felt like the merry widow celebrating the arsehole kicking off. I drank some lovely wine, sang a few times, took my pick of some lovely men to share my time with; sometimes a few at a time. All these gents treated me like a filthy queen, for once I was with male company that truly desired me. I envisioned Hamish in front of me as I was licked by one gent and rammed by another, every sigh and scream from my lips was a big fuck you to his very existence.

One inebriated gentleman wanted the experience of being rammed by a lady and I was more than happy to oblige. I imagined Hamish's pallid dead face as I thrust harder and harder into him. My new friend encouraged me to go rough on him, I smacked him a few times then my hands were around his throat. He seemed to enjoy this, I just wanted to squeeze harder and feel how many bones would break. I wanted to feel his death throes through my prick and buck with his twitching. Would anyone miss this plunker anyway? No, I relaxed my grip and let go when he finished off. Leaving something behind here might be a bit messier.

My last recollection was trying to shoo away some lout who was pawing all over me, but I was too drunk to really fight him off. I would wake the next morning in a closet, my skirts practically pulled over my head and my hindquarters aching something awful. It wasn't one of my proudest moments.

I did somewhat remember the bastard's face; he was owed some payback if I saw him again, but right now I wasn't overly passionate about revenge. Deep down I wanted to meet him again, perhaps I could think of ways to make it look like an accident. A far more interesting thought was how much I wanted to do this for sport and wasn't overly perturbed by what apparently happened to me. Maybe I was just that insane by now.

I picked myself up, changed into my regular clothes, and got out of there; I did have someplace to be. Thankfully I had a little time to spare to make myself somewhat presentable when I went to Mersey Hall. I still looked a bit haggard, but fit to be in polite society. I was practically dragging myself to the theater, everything just ached and every child's laugh and squeak of carriage wheels rubbed against my last nerves. I would tell Colin I was a little under the weather, though I would be fully capable of participating in our discussions.

I approached the theater, immediately seeing Colin outside leaning against the wall. He saw me and practically marched over to me, I noticed a worried look over his face. Colin beckoned me closer to the building, looking around for everyone passing by. I furrowed my brows and ran a few steps up to him.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

Colin gazed at me, his lower lip trembling. His mouth tried to form words but all I heard were heavy breaths. Deep down I knew what this was about; I knew it was time to shove out all prior knowledge and get into character.

"There are two constables inside," he said at last in a low tone, his voice shaking. "They came here earlier with some…oh God this is awful."

"Constables here?" I asked incredulously. "What the hell do they want?"

He stared at me again, a tear streamed down his cheek.

"Hamish is dead, son," he sobbed.

My mouth dropped open and I stared at him hard.

"Dead? What?" I sputtered.

"His friends found him last night," Colin continued, every shake in his voice was a knife through my skin. "He was lying in bed and…it must have been a few days ago. He probably went in his sleep."

Colin took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. I just stood there numb.

"These…these gentlemen want to speak with you, just to hear what he was like the last time you saw him."

I looked to the cobblestones and nodded. Colin's strong arms wrapped around me, mine rose up in turn and embraced him. I was now trembling, I found myself sobbing.


	61. Part 61

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 61**

Colin gave me a quick warning before we entered the theater; apparently Hamish's friends told the constables of the deceased's flatmate named "Gregory" when they sent them right here. I simply nodded and told Colin I would keep that in mind. That was indeed the name I gave to everyone Hamish introduced me to, apparently I never did say my true name to any of them. That was fine by me; if everyone connected with this calamity knew me as Greg that's who I would be. This could work to my advantage.

Colin had an arm around my shoulder as I entered the theater, I could feel his muscles trembling. He had retained some composure by now, but I wondered how long that would last. I felt myself shaking a bit, likely a normal reaction to having to speak to the law about a death for which I was in fact responsible. My nerves allowed me to keep up the act of a man who just learned my old friend was just found dead.

I was barely a few steps down the hallway when I saw the two men in blue uniforms and tricorns; one was a little on the skinny side, his partner was a bit short and a bit rotund. I greeted the men politely.

"Are you Gregory? Hamish McClendon's flat mate?" the skinny one asked.

McClendon? I gave the constable a confused look.

"I believe you may have known him as Hamish Quinton," the fat one said. "The name on his flat is Hamish Q. McClendon though everyone seems to know him by another name."

I nodded in understanding. Hamish could be assumed to be a more exotic forename, though McClendon smacked of Scottish or worse Irish. Such an allegedly filthy name could cause some problems with "decent" Englishmen hiring him, though perhaps our boy was also fond of aliases.

"This is indeed an awful way to learn of his Christian name," I said with a hard sigh, my voice cracking a little.

The skinny one was Constable Martin, the fat one was Constable Rand; they gave their introductions rather politely, then got to business. Colin stayed right next to me the whole time.

My name is Gregory Patterson. Yes, gentlemen, this was the first time I learned of my friend's tragic death. I kept up a solid act during this response. I told them I had been living in the flat for six months, though was clear that I recently moved out. Inevitably they asked me why, I conjured a few hard breaths just thinking of how I left my friend right before he died.

"Our relationship had become difficult," I answered. "We were quarreling, he became more and more disrespectful, I did not get on with many of his friends. Over time he was drinking more and coming back rather rude and obnoxious. There came a point where we went from being friends to cantankerous flatmates passing each other in the night. When he announced his departure from Mersey Hall, I decided that was the best time for me to find another living situation."

"When did you move from the flat?" Constable Martin asked.

"Friday of last week," I responded. "The evening before he had been particularly rude at the theater, I am sure Mr. Avery could give you more information if you wished to hear it. Anyway, I spent then evening with friends. I returned to my flat, finding my possessions thrown about the apartment, some were broken and some bore a strong odor of urine. Mr. McClendon was lying on the bed completely inebriated. I asked what happened to my things, he hurled insults at me and told me it was time for me to go and he 'Helped me pack.' I summarily collected my effects and got the hell out of there."

"What was Mr. McClendon's physical state when you left?" Constable Rand asked.

"Blacked out but snoring rather loudly," I replied. "I left the flat right then, I hadn't seen him since. That was indeed the last time I would see him."

My character grew a bit emotional with the full realization and let out a hard breath. Colin rubbed my shoulder; I patted his hand in response and let my gaze trail off.

"Do you know how he died?" I asked, pulling my tired gaze to the constables.

"Not sure yet, but it didn't look like anything violent; he was just lying in bed when he was found," Rand said. "It does appear he passed a number of days ago; his body was a bit decomposed."

"Oh God!" I exclaimed with a sob, burying my head in my hands.

A decayed body left little indication of how it died. Unless something was obviously broken or pierced, I doubt anyone would determine exactly what happened.

"Well the coroner is going to take another look at him, though he was a bit too decomposed for any immediate cause of death to be identified," Martin continued. "It does appear he likely passed around the same time you moved out."

I put my head in my hands and took a hard, painful breath.

"And here I was thinking how much I couldn't wait to be out of there," I added. "I cursed him out so many times. But…oh God what if I had stayed?" My tears flowed a bit freer. "I could...I could have saved him couldn't I. Damn it all he was so lost."

"Greg, there was no way you could have know what would happen to him," Colin said in my ear. "We all saw what he was like. Constables, I can attest that Mr. McClendon did indeed have a long history of drunkenness. It breaks my heart, though…dammit Hamish."

A few more sobs escaped me, Colin rubbed my shoulders even harder.

"Three of his friends said they went to his flat looking for him, he didn't make a performance he was supposed to join them at," Martin added. "Apparently they expected you there as well."

I cleared a few tears and looked back at the good constable.

"Hamish said nothing to me about a performance," I said, my voice still shaking. "Apparently he was just expecting to drag me along with him. Typical of the sod."

"We did see quite a few things thrown around, though we found his purse, several instruments, and some assorted jewelry items. Clearly he wasn't robbed," Rand said.

They found jewelry? I felt the sweat bead down my back. Were any of these items mine? Asking would have been a grave mistake, perhaps that would be the toll for my freedom. Then again how many other jewelry boxes had he secretly picked from in his life?

I just nodded; the constables glanced at each other with calm looks.

"I just hope he went peacefully," I sobbed. "So much better it is to die in one's sleep."

I know for a fact he did just that.

"There is going to be an inquest, you can expect a summons from the coroner's office within the next twenty-four hours," Martin said. "Likely they will indeed find he died in his sleep, probably of the drink."

"Mr. McClendon did have a history of ill health," Colin added. "As I mentioned, yes he was known as a heavy drinker. However, and I don't know if his friends told you, but he had a near fatal bout with influenza over a year ago. I don't know if perhaps that had some lingering effects."

Martin scribbled this down in his little notebook and both nodded.

"They did not but that could be useful information," Martin replied. "Mr. Avery given your own relationship to the deceased you will likely be summoned as well for some added information."

"Whatever I can do to give Hamish some closure I will gladly do so," Colin said with a heavy nod.

The gentlemen bade their leave with no parting words, not even any condolences. Colin saw them out, then returned to the dressing room. I just stood there staring at the wall, everything ached, my head was swimming. None of this felt real. Colin approached me and embraced me hard, I let out a few more tears on his shirt. Then he gave me a hearty clap on my shoulder, then pulled away. His eyes were rimmed with red, his face looked drawn.

He bid me follow him into his office, we sat down and he opened his desk drawer. A bottle of rum was now out as was two glasses, one in front of each of us. He uncorked the bottle and poured small glasses. He then raised his glass, though said nothing; a silent toast to the departed. I did the same in turn, then we both knocked them back.

I put the glass on the desktop, then got another look at Colin. Now I confess I felt truly awful, if I would bear any guilt for killing Hamish it would be seeing the look on Colin's face at that moment. I knew it would be the same strife when everyone else heard the news. And here I would be the ultimate victim in all of this, or so everyone would think. What would happen if they all knew the truth? How much of a great guy would I be to them then?

Colin lifted the bottle again, then poured us both glasses.

"Just one more, getting drunk will solve bloody nothing," he said, his voice strained with the threat of sobs.

I simply nodded, then lifted my glass.

"To Hamish," I declared as I put a crack in my own voice.

Colin raised his glass and paused for a moment.

"To Hamish," he said.

We both knocked back our glasses.

To a drunkard, to a thief, to a liar. How would these sods feel if they learned the full truth about him? No, who was the real villain in this story? Mourning was but shallow sentiment; one could mourn for any villain solely on the fact he was dead. Everyone could cry as much as they wanted, though would they remember how they cursed him out as an imbecile just a few days ago? Would such sentiments be null and void in the wave of requisite tears?

Mourning makes sincere men out of liars, heroes out of fools, villains out of the practical. Hamish was dead, that was the only real part out of any of this. The manner of his passing was but a detail, only one living soul knew how he went and I sure as hell would take that to my own grave.

Another thought dawned on me that parted the clouds in my mind. It was the recollection of my own moment of weakness nigh on two years ago, then the ultimate realization of Hamish's own story. A dire situation does not make death a given conclusion. One single nail saved me from my doom, that was all it was; one little nail on the side of that carriage broke my fall. On the same end Hamish would survive influenza and go on to brag about it to everyone.

Everyone has his time; the Reaper comes when he is good and ready. Hamish could have woken up as I smothered him, he could have been sober enough to overtake me. His landlord could have walked in the room, his friends could have walked in the room, hell a bolt of lightening could have struck me down. Instead everything happened as I intended because that was how it was meant to be. Hamish McClendon was going to end up just as dead because he was meant to.

Let everyone mourn his passing, let everyone speculate and study the manner he went, all that mattered in the end was that he was gone. The details were just details.

Colin and I sat in an uncomfortable silence; I positioned my fingers over the top of the glass and just slid it around the desk. He continued looking at the wall with a heavy expression. Colin then looked back at me and gave this almost apologetic smile.

"I doubt sets and costumes are on your mind right now," Colin said. "Perhaps we should meet tomorrow?"

I looked away and gave the matter a few thoughts, then shook my head.

"I would rather have something to talk on beside this," I said, my voice working through a lingering crack. "I wouldn't mind having a bit of a distraction, let my brain properly sort out all this when it is in a more organized state. If you are not in any mood to discuss, however, then I perfectly understand."

Colin looked at me, then nodded.

"No, you're right," he said. "Hamish expected the show to go on, only fitting we continue."

I simply nodded. Colin took a few deep breaths and began the discussion he had already planned. We talked about sets, about costumes, we shared ideas for how things should look. We also discussed my role in the backstage affairs. I would still be involved in the preparations when the play was not going on, though I would not be a set runner nor would I be immediately involved in applying make-up unless I wanted to do a few designs. Colin wanted me to focus on my role and I was more than agreeable.

I could tell through this whole conversation Colin was preoccupied. He was a player reciting lines with no passion or interest; it was painful to listen to. After an hour there was more give and take conversation, I could see his interest slowly returning though he still sounded hollow.

Finally we ended the conversation; Colin offered to buy me some lunch. We then left the theater, I actually felt relieved to be out of that building. We collected ourselves and walked down the street for a few blocks, Colin said a little fresh air would certainly be nice. At last we collected in a pub and had a nice meal washed down with a few pints.

Gradually a few stories about Hamish floated out of Colin and I joined in with a few anecdotes. Naturally I mentioned nothing of the true nature of our relationship, I simply spoke as someone who lost his friend. The somberness gradually faded, the dark subject was now being discussed in a more wistful manner. It felt good to speak on Hamish in such a pleasant way. There had been so much strife between us for so long, I had almost forgotten how wonderful things used to be.

It was a lovely few hours. We cleared away the sickening discomfort, our moods somewhat lightened. For once we were just two guys at a pub. I cannot ever recall a time when I truly felt this comfortable and this at home with Colin.

Eventually we did a little pub hopping, though I took Colin's lead. He wasn't getting smashed and stuck mostly to the lagers, I did the same. The desire grew greater to just get pissed, though Colin's presence was keeping me from hitting them back too hard. Colin really got relaxed though blimey could that bugger put them away.

Dialogue became a bit more bawdy, soon Colin was telling me a few colorful stories I never even imagined he would be part of. Then again he was a handsome young buck of an actor too, it only made sense he would sow his wild oats. I was only obliged to share some of my stories, though being careful not to talk about pricks and ramming arses in public.

Our end destination was Colin's lovely flat. We entered the building singing loudly, Aunt Roberta came out to see the racket and Colin just gave her a warm hug and serenaded her. She was pretty good-natured about it, she called us a few drunken fools, though did so with a laugh. She made us a lovely late night dinner, the lager started wearing off but we both were nice and silly for a good long time.

I actually recall Roberta settling me into a guest room and showing me where the basin and the pot were. I kissed her cheek and thanked her profusely, when she left I managed to get most of my clothes off and settle into bed.

My head did ache slightly when I woke and my mouth was a bit dry, otherwise I rose from my comfortable bed with little issue. I dressed and walked down the stairs to see Roberta preparing breakfast. Colin was sitting at the table and sipping a cup of coffee, I soon had my own cup and sat across from Colin.

"And how are you doing this morning," I asked as I took my seat.

Colin simply giggled, then groaned.

"Bloody hell I haven't done that in a while," he snickered.

I laughed along with him.

"I have to say I was impressed, never thought you could pound back the pints like that," I chuckled.

He put a hand on his round belly and shook it; peals of laughter escaped me.

"Such is the benefit of having lived heartily," he said, then chuckled along with me.

We chatted a little, smelling the eggs and sausage on the fire in the next room and hearing Roberta sing a little to herself. Colin and I were alone, inevitably talk turned back to that one unpleasant subject.

"I am sure those constables will be back today," Colin said quietly, leaning in slightly over the table. "Likely with summons for the inquest."

I took a hard breath, then nodded.

"I need to ask for your cooperation in one matter," I said softly, leaning in a little further.

"Anything," Colin replied.

I looked to the kitchen, hearing Roberta still singing to herself. Then I leaned back toward Colin.

"I will not be using my Christian name in any of these proceedings," I whispered.

"I know I will be breaking oaths, and I know that could get me and you into a lot of trouble if the truth is learned. However I cannot have the name Grell Sutcliff publicly connected with this whole mess. All it will take is for some reporter to ask the right questions of the right people to come up with a grand story that will make certain people very angry. My family has left me alone for the past year, I fear what will happen if they see me in the papers from all this."

Colin nodded.

"I understand completely," he replied. "In these proceedings you will be Gregory Elias Patterson. If the name Grell is ever breathed by anyone, you know what the explanation will be."

I smiled wide and nodded. Colin took my hands and leaned in a little further; he was almost nose-to-nose with me.

"I swear to you, son, I will watch out for you during this whole ordeal," he vowed. "This is hell for both of us, the one thing I do not want you to worry about is all this bureaucratic maneuvering. We'll get through this, then we can properly mourn Hamish."

A little pang of guilt smacked me again as if to remind me of how easily it would not die. I smacked it off and smiled wider, letting my breath catch in my throat for a moment.

"Thank you Colin," I said with the utmost sincerity. "I cannot describe how much this means to me now."

He simply smiled in return.

Late in the morning we both walked to Mersey Hall. Sure enough a man in a blue coat with a black tricorn was standing right at the door waiting for us, then handed us our respective papers.

"Mr. Colin Avery, Mr. Gregory Patterson, you are hereby summoned to the Parish of St. Martin-in-the-Fields tomorrow at 8 o'clock in the morning for the inquisition into the death of Hamish Quinton McClendon."

I wanted to give a snide smile at the sound of that full name, though I stiffened my lips to look appropriately somber. It was the hidden name of a true confidence man: a skilled actor whose stage was his entire life. How many of his secrets had I revealed by sending him to his reward?

We gave simple nods and affirmations and the man went off without a word. I looked over my summons, flowery language as expected essentially saying the same thing. Colin and I entered the theater with barely a word, tossing his own summons with his coat. I folded it up and placed it in my coat pocket, though it nearly felt like it was a piece of burning coal.

Colin then faced me with a somber look.

"I'm going to make an announcement to everyone before rehearsal time," he declared. "What we all do from there depends on everyone's sentiments."

I made some affirmation to this statement, though I was too numb to remember it.

Colin and I then went over some set ideas; this was exactly what I needed to pull up my glum mood. I was coming up with some ambitious designs too; thinking on all the ridiculous things I could write down and fund ways to make these feasible was a much nicer series of thoughts. I was reminded how much I enjoyed designing products at the old office, only this time my designs would be for a far nobler purpose; most of all they would be all mine.

I was in a somewhat better mood by late afternoon, then the door opened repeatedly as the cast came in for the beginning of rehearsal. My stomach dropped, Colin and I exchanged a grim look. We left the backstage area and went to the dressing room to meet everyone. Everyone had smiles on their faces, everyone was chatting merrily, pleasant greetings went all around.

If only they knew the truth that was about to be dropped on them. If only they knew their happiness would be short lived. The thought was tragic, though somehow made my lips quirk in a smile. I went out and conversed with them like normal, wondering how they would take the news. How many would be sincerely saddened, how many would put on a show of mourning, how missed would Hamish really be? The thought made my heart flutter.

I kept half an eye on Colin; he remained mostly in the back of the room, his expression growing grimmer by the minute. He was going to be the bearer of ill news I couldn't imagine what his nerves were like right now. Soon he would be giving a monologue; the lines alone would carry immense weight regardless of his delivery. He could say every word in a screeching laugh and they would be just as terrible. I tried to keep myself from giggling at the very thought of this.

Rehearsal was supposed to commence at 4. I was soon looking at the clock repeatedly, not out of nerves but more out of giddy anticipation. I actually found myself awaiting a splendid show. Soon it was quarter before the hour, all the players were in the theater chatting merrily. I found myself getting a little chattier myself, my heart was racing in anticipation. I glanced over and saw Colin standing at the back of the room avoiding everyone. He looked downright miserable; I knew the big bang was about to happen soon.

The clock now read a little after 4, everyone was gathering around for the usual speech to kick off this whole experience. Oh there would be a speech to set the tone all right. Colin was soon approaching us, everyone's pratter ceased. I quickly got into character: a young man whose grief was briefly soothed by the presence of friends, now having to face the tragedy again. I would have my heart ripped open once more and would have to watch as all my friends were as devastated as I was about the news.

Colin took a few hard breaths, then pulled up a chair in front of us and practically dropped into it. Everyone went quiet. Colin looked at all of us, then to his feet: the silence slowly pressing down over all of us. Smiles were relaxing, eyes that had been wandering a moment ago were bow front and center, the jovial mood was gradually waning to quiet discomfort.

Colin opened his mouth, looking like he was practicing the words in his head before speaking them. I felt my skin tingling a bit in excitement, though I kept my head down with the anticipation of what he was going to say.

"We are gathered here today for rehearsal, the start of our journey toward 'Antony and Cleopatra,'" Colin declared with a hard sigh. "I want to start with the basic readings, let everyone get their bearings. Unfortunately I have to begin what should be a happy occasion with some ill news."

I saw every iris on Colin, lower lips were starting to droop and breaths were sucked in. I kept my head low, keeping in character though trying not to amuse myself with the looks of dread all around.

Colin looked to the floor again and took another hard breath, then looked right at the group. It was time for the grim fanfare.

"Hamish Quinton has died," he declared.

I rested my face in my hand and listened to the gasps, whimpers, and spits of "no" and "oh God" around me.

"Grell and I were approached by two constables yesterday morning," Colin continued. "Apparently he died a few days ago. Some of his friends grew concerned for his absence and visited his flat, finding him dead in his bed. It appears he went in his sleep, no one knows exactly how; possibly from ill health, though very likely from drink."

I heard no reactions save for some heavy sighs. I turned my head up meekly, seeing everyone staring at Colin either with wide eyes and slack jaws or downcast looks and grimaces. Colin was now looking at all of us, his slouched posture raised up. I saw him give me a quick glance of concern before looking as if he was going into a stern speech.

"I know the last time many of you, if not all of you, saw him it was not under pleasant circumstances," Colin said. "Your final impression of him is none too flattering, that is justifiable. I've known Hamish for a long time, and I've known that he and booze were awful companions and he has been most capable of being a miserable bastard; you've known this too. And have known, a have all of you, that he could also be a kind, supportive, lovely human being."

Colin's voice cracked around these words. I sank my head in my hands again and nodded only to keep in character. Yes Hamish could be miserable, he could be kind, he was also downright false; was there ever a real side to him?

"Remember him how you will, only remember he has kin, he has friends, he was loved by many people who will be mourning him," Colin continued. "Despite how we last parted, I count myself as one of them. I only ask that you bear this in mind and try not to speak ill of the dead. There is only one who judges all of us in the end; Hamish has already answered to those powers."

I snuck a little smirk under the cover of my hands. I briefly entertaining the fancy that perhaps I had been that one, though I knew damn well in the moment of my end something much higher would judge me.

"I ask you to recall all the fond times, for there were indeed many," Colin continued. "He was a friend to so many of us here; so supportive, so encouraging, always witty. This is how I know I will remember him."

Everyone nodded, a few yeses and affirming grunts peppered in. How important it was to remember the happy mask and not the sad one; or perhaps it was best to honor the mask and not the real man. So curious the concept of mourning was.

"Grell and I had a brief conversation with those two constables and we have been formally summoned for his inquest, I'm sure you know the reasons," Colin said.

I saw heads nodding all around. Ephraim shifted beside me and clapped a hand on my shoulder; I bowed my head a little further down with a hard breath.

"This is a formality, the parish wants to sort out all the details for their paperwork," Colin continued. "However there is always the possibility that a greater investigation could be going on for whatever reason. There is a possibility, however remote by my estimation, that any of you may be approached by someone in uniform asking about Hamish. Both Grell and I did learn through the constables his Christian name is Hamish Quinton McClendon, expect to be hearing that name in a few places irregardless."

I briefly looked up to a few reactions of mild surprise, though everyone else just nodded in understanding. I then saw Colin's stern gaze on everyone.

"If any of you are approached by any constable, any counselor, any magistrate, anyone asking about your relationship with Hamish, I ask that you tell them only of your own dealings with him and not speak on or speculate on any dealings or relationship he may have had with anyone else or this theater as a whole," Colin declared. "There are parties who always love to complicate things for whatever reason, as many of you are well aware.

"They ask you about his dealings with me, they ask you about his dealings with Grell, they ask you about John the fishmonger, they ask about the Prince of Wales, they ask you about Hamish's relationship with Christ; say nothing. There might be those who want to exploit Hamish's passing for whatever ends. Someone may want to gather evidence on the immorality of the theater, or someone may want to make someone's life miserable for their own amusement, bear that in mind."

I heard enthusiastic yeses and nods in complete agreement around me; Ephraim's hand squeezed my shoulder. For once I smiled a little, I wanted to run up to Colin and embrace him right there.

Colin eventually posed the question of whether to even have rehearsal that afternoon. Everyone's reactions were the same as mine: the show must go on. Hamish left us in the first place, why wait on his account? Colin did give everyone time to pull their collective selves together.

Many did come up to me with their polite condolences, asking me how I was feeling. Everyone knew there was strife, everyone knew by now I was out of the flat. I accepted their kind words, added a few statements about how shocking this was, though I really didn't want to speak further and everyone respected that.

Sooner than later we were gathered in a circle for the first reading. I tore into every line, savoring it like a fine roast pheasant. I needed to be in character, I needed to interact with fellow characters. In this place the strife was fictional, it was a much nicer state of being. It felt good to be at the center of it all under these circumstances than the other, I truly realized how soothing this job could be.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I ended up writing much more than I thought I would, so this is going to be the first of two new chapters. The next chapter will probably be out in the next few days.


	62. Part 62

**Bloody Red Doll**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Part 62**

After a few hours we got through all of the play. Colin called it a night; we would meet tomorrow to start up the true rehearsal process.

Many of us gathered at the pub later, a toast was raised to dearly departed Hamish. I stood up and added a few words about his talents, his promise, his generosity, how tragic his loss was. Usual bollocks, speaking well of the dead and that rot. Might as well: in case some constable or magistrate put the screws to my fellows, they would have nothing to report on the deceased's flatmate but sincere mourning.

I wanted to oblivate myself, though that would have been unwise. I did have an inquest to go to the next morning, showing up hung over might have been a bit frowned upon. I had to give a grand performance for a much tougher crowd; I needed to be on point. Instead I just had a couple glasses of rum and stuck to a few lagers; by evening's end I was relaxed yet still coherent.

Colin came up to me at the end of the night, leaning down and whispering.

"Perhaps you should spend the night at my house tonight," he said. "We'll both leave together in the morning for this joyous occasion."

I nodded in complete agreement. It was a practical suggestion, plus I didn't know how much I wanted to be alone that night.

Colin and I got embraces and repetitions of "Good luck" and "Don't let the bastards bully you" as we left. Truly kind words from our kind fellows, it was another lovely reminder that our friends were looking out for us in our time of need. Their words were likely wasted on me, though it still warmed my heart to know they cared.

I returned briefly to my room to gather a nice suit, Colin waited outside the building as I gathered my effects. I packed an appropriate black suit. I chose a shirt that bore the smell of herbs and a fragrant soap, the handiwork of the able washerwoman who rehabilitated my piss-soaked clothing. It was an appropriate garment for this occasion. Soon I was out with my small case in hand containing a respectable outfit and following Colin.

Colin and I returned to his flat, Aunt Roberta greeted me warmly and Colin filled her in on the details. Later on he gave me a few pointers on how to deal with such proceedings; unfortunately he has been called to a few of these in his life.

"All they want to know is the basic details," Colin told me as we sat by the fire in his lounge. "The whole purpose of this is to know what happened to Hamish. They'll just want to know what you saw last."

"As I was probably the last man to see him alive," I answered with a nod.

"But you weren't with him when he died, they can only get so much from you."

Oh the irony of that statement.

"The one thing they will care about from you and from me is what state he was in that could have lead to his death," Colin continued. "They should be looking to us more as character witnesses; all they need is to fill the narrative."

"Though, as you said, they might try to go for something else."

"Just watch yourself." He got up and looked out the door, then returned to his seat and leaned in. "If they strongly suspected you of any sort of legal wrongdoing you would have known by now. Unfortunately that includes the nature of your relationship. They wouldn't be summoning you to an inquest; they would be dragging you in. The last thing you want to do is give them any reason to suspect your relationship, though I know you're cautious; I know you'll be careful what you say."

It always amused me how buggery and murder were punished the same way.

Colin and I had one last nightcap before turning in, he showed me to the same guest room I planted my form the previous evening. We parted with pleasantries, I settled into the soft bed though sleep was not coming easy. I tried not to think on the next day, of how everything would go, of what traps were waiting at every corner. I had to be ready for anything. Colin said all they cared about was a narrative; I certainly had to keep to a consistent one. I thought on a few more details to the story to get myself prepared. At last my eyes fluttered closed and I faded into a restful sleep.

I was awoken by a knock on the door followed by Colin's voice calling my name. I called back that I was awake and would be ready shortly. The clock read half past 6; I must have slept well. I donned my suit, then went downstairs where Roberta had a scrumptious breakfast prepared. Colin soon joined us, also wearing a modest black suit; this was probably the most dressed up I had ever seen him. We ate in a still silence, though occasionally threw around some light chatter. Neither of us was in an overly jovial mod for obvious reasons.

Within the half hour we walked out the door and made our somber way toward our destination. Neither of us spoke, the walk felt like a funeral procession only we were the only ones in the parade; everyone else went about their business. A short while later we arrived at the formidable St. Martin's; following the directions on to a door in back of the church leading to a stern looking hallway. A constable was right there escorting us through a side door.

Colin and I walked into a modest sized room. As Colin told me, a twenty-four-man jury sat in chairs to the side; there was a simple chair at the head of the room next to a few desks. Colin and I took our seats in a series of benches in the middle. I immediately recognized three of Hamish's playing chums: these must have been the friends who found him. Thankfully none of them were his hard drinking buddies, only a few of the regular blokes who would join us.

The boys actually stood up upon seeing me. One lad, Fred I believe his name was, approached me with an outstretched hand. I saw Colin taking a guarding stance out of the corner of my eye; I was a bit guarded myself though I took his hand.

"I'm sorry we had to meet like this, chap," Fred said with a hard sigh.

I nodded.

"I'm sorry too," I said. "I hope you weren't the ones…"

He closed his eyes and nodded.

"Bugger me, I'm sorry," I sighed. "Fred I swear to God I didn't mean to leave you boys hanging, I didn't even know…."

Fred shook his head and grimaced.

"It's no matter now, everything's just a bloody mess," he replied. "But it was his bloody mess, we all knew that."

I nodded with a hard breath.

"Hey, let's get some pints after this, properly toast the bugger," Fred said.

"That would be nice, let's get this bollocks done then and get drunk," I replied.

We exchanged another handshake, then Colin and I took our seats. I felt relaxed already, regardless of what was going to come out of these bastards' mouths.

Soon the magistrate walked in the room and this whole thing started. The coroner was called up first and gave his account. I held my breath a little as he started speaking, then I remembered what Colin told me last night; if I was suspected of anything I would have been dragged in by now.

The boys found Hamish Monday evening; as the constables had reported he started to rot. The coroner estimated he was likely dead for three or four days, putting the date of his death at the Friday or Saturday before he was found. I tried not to sweat as I listened to this.

Then came the good news: there was no clear indication of how he died. No evidence of violence upon what they could analyze. No broken bones, no puncture wounds, no bullet holes, nothing out of place. The decomposition of his body rendered any other analysis fruitless; meaning no bruises, no blood trails, nothing to give away that he was actually smothered. That would mean the murder weapon itself was so covered in rotting flesh that every compromising indicator of his murder was covered up.

I covered my mouth and bowed my head at the grisly descriptions, feeling Colin's hand on my shoulder. I leaned forward, looking as if I were ill at the word. It perfectly concealed the smile on my face and the way my body shook in relief, though I knew this was far from over.

It was noted that the flat was found in a state of dishevelment with numerous items thrown around. However the deceased was found in his bed in a sleeping position with no blood anywhere else in the apartment. As we learned before they found some money and valuables, clearly no one stole anything (that anyone knew of).

Fred was called up to the stand first. The story went that he and his mates were supposed to meet Hamish at the house of Samuel Perkins for a party he was throwing for his business partners. They arrived; Hamish and I were nowhere to be found. They played anyway, though Fred said all of them exchanged colorful insults for both Hamish and myself; Fred did give me a little apologetic look when he said this. When they got done at the party, they went to the pub and knocked back several drinks; getting more and more angry at their missing comrades.

They left the pub in an ill temper, then decided to pay Hamish a little visit. They entered the building and entered the hallway when something was greatly amiss.

"The smell was just overwhelming," Fred testified. "I was drunk as it was, I nearly blew it right there."

"What did it smell like, Mr. Calvin," the magistrate asked.

"Like old meat left to rot, but far worse," Fred replied with a disgusted look. "We thought someone just left some food out. We kept on, Jimmy opened the door right up, wasn't even locked or anything."

I suppressed an eye roll; I knew I didn't lock that bloody door. My guess he would be found sooner than later ended up being false.

"What did you find when you entered the room, Mr. Calvin?" the magistrate asked.

"The smell just washed over us, then we saw him on the bed," Fred continued, his complexion growing green and his voice cracking. "I took one look and his…his skin was all black. There was green…bloody Christ."

"Mind your language, young man," the magistrate snapped.

"Apologies, Your Honor, this is all a bit much," Fred replied in a shaking voice, putting a hand through his short blond hair.

I looked at Colin and saw the same blank look on his face; he glanced at me, then put a hand on my forearm. Fred paused for a moment, and then continued his story; the other boys ran out to summon the watch, they were asked a few questions, that was essentially the last of it.

The magistrate asked if he was looking for me at all, he said he essentially forgot I existed amid this whole horrible experience. His Honor did ask Fred about Hamish's carousing habits, Fred spared no detail; he told him of Hamish's heavy drinking, how it was just social at first but then got worse. He told him Hamish's temper was shorter and his playing was much less crisp, he even told him he did not want to be in the same room with him for too long. Wonders but wonders Fred testified he was not surprised I was missing.

The magistrate asked him to elaborate, he told of Hamish speaking so ill of me and commented on our manner when we were in the same room.

"His manner with Greg was ugly, Greg was a smart man to be away from him."

I held back my smile, though I knew this could have done me more harm than good.

Fred was dismissed; I gave him a pat on the shoulder when he took his seat. The two other boys, Adam and Jeffrey, were called and essentially gave the same story.

Finally Gregory Patterson was called to the stand. Colin placed both hands on my shoulders and whispered "Good show." I rose from my seat and walked to the front of the room. A constable was right there with the Good Book in one hand, having me place my hand upon it and swear to tell the truth. I swore to tell the truth, knowing full well the truth would apply to my character. I then took my seat, fully getting into my role.

I was given some basic questions. I had lived with the now-deceased Mr. McClendon six or seven months, I did meet him through our mutual work at Mersey Hall. We had been close friends at first, though our paths gradually separated; then his manner became more and more belligerent. I said I planned to leave his residence once I heard he planned to leave Mersey Hall and I had been moving my things. I told the panel of his manner the night before I left, how I spent the evening with friends sharing my concerns of his ill temper and saying I planned to move out the next day.

"Mr. Patterson, when was the last time you saw Mr. McClendon?"

I realized how those two names sounded together; two names I had never heard before now used like normal. Those truly were character names to me, this felt more and more like some dramatic presentation. The audience was before us listening to this sordid tale; here I was the handsome young villain posing as the victim. Only they only saw a wronged hero, didn't they? Characters are after all only how they are presented; they are just words on a page, a face in front of a crowd.

"The Friday morning before he was found," I said. "I returned to the flat, finding Mr. McClendon lying prone on the bed, though he was turning a little and snoring. My possessions had been thrown around the room, some of them soiled with urine."

"Was this Mr. McClendon's doing?"

"Yes, sir. He awoke briefly to sling some insults at me and he said he had, and I quote, 'Helped you pack.'"

"What did you do then, Mr. Patterson?"

"I collected my remaining possessions, including the soiled items, and got out of there."

"What was Mr. McClendon's state at the time you departed?"

"Fast asleep on the bed and snoring loudly," I said.

"There were no more words exchanged?"

"No, your honor; I simply left and returned to me prearranged guestroom."

"Did you see or hear anything else from Mr. McClendon?"

"No sir, and at the time I was thankful for it. Later that afternoon I went to my job at Mersey Hall and I spoke to Mr. Avery, communicating my fears that Mr. McClendon would return and start a row. Alas he never walked through the door, he never did the remaining days either."

My voice cracked, I let out a hard sigh.

"That morning would indeed be the last day I saw him," I continued, my voice a bit breathy. "And I said to myself, 'Good riddance, I hope I never see the blighter again.' Then on Tuesday I found out I never would; do you now how hard it is to live with yourself after thinking such things? Hamish was my good friend, he was like a brother, but something just turned. God, I never wanted my last memories of him to be this."

I let out a sob, though caught myself and took a few deep breaths with a whimper of "I'm sorry, your honor,"

There were few questions after this and none of substance; soon I was dismissed. I returned to my seat bleary eyed, savoring the shoulder rubs I got from Colin and the whispers of "I'm so bloody sorry" from Fred and the boys. Colin was called next, I gave him a hardy pat on the shoulder as he went up and we exchanged encouraging glances.

Colin echoed my story of his demeanor the last night he performed with us, giving even more details of his ill temper. Colin testified that he knew Hamish for five years; the two were colleagues and friends though Hamish had a reputation for carousing. He spoke of the tragic news a year ago that he had fallen gravely ill with influenza, then talked about the miracle of seeing him alive and well again. Colin said he offered Hamish a job to help him get back on his feet; his act was considerably cleaned up for while, then he saw him fall back into bad habits.

"It broke my heart to see him fall back into such a state," Colin testified. "He was such a wonderful, talented young man. When he was drunk he was an entirely different person."

I kept my head down fighting back tears. Oh God if only Colin really knew what he was like. What if he made off with a few nights' counts, what if a few decent props and tools went missing? All these questions turned my stomach even more.

Colin was finally dismissed and returned to his seat, I clasped his forearm and exchanged a sympathetic look. The magistrate announced he had heard all he needed to hear for now; all testimony today would be weighed as part of the investigation process. If any of us would be needed we would be summoned; it was indeed an ominous declaration. By now, however, I doubted I was any sort of suspect or that the law considered Hamish's death a case of anything but over-drunkenness.

The inquest was formally adjourned, I practically leapt from my seat; I needed to get the hell out of there. I was nearly running for the door, though slowed my pace to keep up with Colin. Fred and the boys met us in the hallway; I agreed to join the lads at the pub right after this. Colin politely declined; he said he wanted to get a head start on some matters at the theater.

Finally I walked out of that ruddy building into the fresh air, pulling the tie from my hair and freeing my crimson locks. This was where Colin and I would part. We had been in each other's company for two straight days, now this all was close to being over.

"Go on and have one for me," he said with a weak smile. "Just don't get to smashed, I'd rather not have a slurring Antony."

"Worry not, I'd rather not make an arse of myself," I replied.

We gave each other a firm handshake.

"Are you going to be all right, lad," Colin asked.

I smiled back and nodded slowly.

"You?" I returned.

"I'll be fine, I just want to get on with everything."

We parted ways with "see you in a little while." Colin then walked off; I watched him go for a moment then followed the boys.

As an act of goodwill I bought a round for everybody. There were a lot of hard conversations on everyone's part; they thought I was just another idiot kid Hamish dragged in, I thought they were judgmental arseholes. Ultimately there was one twat at the center of it all, one barrier between all of us.

It was rude to speak ill of the dead, though after a few pints scant few kind words were being said about Hamish. All of us had our respective affections for the man, yet all of us finally had our moment to compare notes. I made sure I wasn't leaking anything incriminating, aside from that I was ranting quite mightily. Adam said something that made my skin crawl:

"Was he the one who took the pay from all your jobs, then spread it around?" Adam asked.

It was an unsettling question, especially the way the other lads were either looking at me or looking away and fidgeting.

"He was, actually," I answered. "Why do you ask?"

The others shook their head, whereas Adam nodded with a grimace.

"You'll notice he handled all the money from your jobs," Adam said, taking a swig from his third or fourth pint. "Courtesy right? Nope, because he takes a 'leader's fee' for himself."

My jaw dropped.

"Are you taking a piss?" I practically gasped.

"Wish he was, but I've seen it," Fred added. "One night Hamish gets too drunk to stand let alone play, I go to collect from the butler so we can get out of there and not get thrown out. He gives me the purse; it's a little heavier than I'm used to. He says 'I guess the leader's fee is yours.' I go 'Leader's fee? What the blooming hell are you on about?' 'That's funny,' he says, 'Mr. Quinton arranged a leader's fee every time he plays with an ensemble.'"

"From that night on, one of us always collected," Jeff said.

I gritted my teeth and did what I could to keep from clocking both of them. I noticed how their jovial looks turned more serious when they saw my expression.

"Look, Greg, no one knows if he was doing the same to you," Fred said. "To be honest we didn't know each other and we certainly didn't know if saying anything would do more harm than good. In hindsight, we should have pulled you aside and warned you, but all of us were knobs. And for that I'm sorry, there should have been a lot more warnings."

I looked at Fred, then saw sincere nods and somber expressions from everyone else. I took a few deep breaths and nodded.

"You were content to watch an idiot kid learn the hard way," I said.

None of them said anything, not even any denials. I just nodded.

"Well perhaps the hardest lessons are the best ones," I said. "I know I certainly have learned."

Fred toasted to "wise lessons," we raised our glasses and laughed at ourselves a bit. Yes we all had learned some important lessons. Whether they knew it or not, these blokes would learn not to let a stranger learn about your mate's dodgy, even criminal tendencies the hard way. Otherwise you might end up finding your chum's rotted corpse. Perhaps they were the ones who paid the heaviest cost; perhaps I could call this a draw and let bygones be bygones. I was feeling more and more like I did everyone a favor.

The mood gradually lightened, we chatted a bit more freely. Someone brought up the idea of all of us doing a few jobs together. Hamish the great coordinator was gone; we all had worked together, may as well make the most of this. I replied with "I would like that" though committed to nothing. It was a nice-sounding gesture though the thought held little appeal. We made peace, though these plunkers hadn't exactly proven themselves trustworthy, especially with that revelation of Hamish's "leader's fees" in flippant conversation.

At 1 I finished my last pint, paid for that previous round, and parted from their company with handshakes and light words. No I didn't trust them, but a little reconciliation did feel good. I took off for Mersey Hall a little relaxed, but Antony certainly would not be slurring his words.

I greeted Colin when I walked in the building, sharing a few brief words on how lovely an afternoon I'd had. After this neither of us wanted to speak on the proceedings, both of us got back to our respective work with no mention of the unpleasantness we just went through.

Later on the company arrived; Colin and I were greeted with embraces, kind words, a few mentions of dealing with those stodgy bureaucrats, though no one asked for specifics and no one made it a subject of conversation. Everyone figured rightly that we weren't in the mood to discuss anything; I for one was most appreciative.

Soon the company took their places and Colin started the rehearsal. It felt like returning to the company of an old familiar friend after a morning of unpleasantness. In good and bad, this friend of the theater would always be with me. At the end of the evening I bade Colin a hearty goodnight; we asked if the other would be all right, answering heavily yet jovially in the affirmative. We shook hands and exchanged a hearty embrace, then parted company.

I went back to my room and proceeded to swig repeatedly from a bottle of rum I had on hand. I didn't want to be in the pub, I just wanted to get drunk in perfect quiet. I sat on my bed and took gulp after gulp, my hand shaking around the bottle as I savored the burn down my throat. My tight muscles gradually relaxed, the grip of tension slowly releasing its hold on my body.

I would wake at first light, my head aching something fierce and my stomach surging. I must have drunk myself to sleep. Gradually I looked down and saw the spilled bottle lying on the floor, the smell of rum strong through the room. I allowed myself to remain in a prone position for a few more hours, gradually finding my way upright through taking everything easy from there. My headache gradually waned by the time I needed to pull myself together and get to the theater. The damp air on the walk over awakened my senses a little more; I arrived at Mersey Hall as ripe and ready to get to work as I could be.

Colin and I gave each other warm greetings, though neither of us mentioned any of the previous day's ill events. We wanted to just go on with everything, though the tone of our voices said everything we didn't want to speak. The day went on, our work went on, everything felt normal for once.

Every bit of tension and discomfort went right into my performance, though I confess every memorized line was simply a noise from my mouth. It was as if I was yelling though in a somewhat organized form. Somehow Colin was only giving me a few pointers when I felt I was stumbling through everything. It was a surreal evening; I just savored every distraction I could get.

At the end of the evening I said my goodnights to everyone, then shuffled off to a pub and knocked back drink after drink. I would settle in my bed, then wake somewhat groggy and return to the theater in the afternoon. Colin and I would greet each other with knowing glances then return to our work. I would put together flats in the afternoon, then crack open my book and move into character in body only; getting more praise for another rote performance.

I went to another pub later, one larger and more boisterous. I savored drinking in the peaceful din of everything around me. Everyone here cared only of their own company and their own drinks, I was content with the lack of chitchat. I sat at the bar, feeling the press of bodies around me. Perhaps I could shout obscenities against the queen and start a riot, though I lacked all ambition for such an endeavor.

I felt a breath just an inch from my face, though thought nothing on it; that was until it formed words in my ear.

"Mr. Patterson, or rather Mr. Sutcliff, I have an urgent word for you," the voice said.

My gaze remained forward and I took another sip of my drink, though my stomach lurched. What the hell did this bugger just say?

"My name is Thomas Daniels, I am a barrister representing a friend of a friend," the voice whispered low in my ear. "In the next few days you will be arrested in connection with the death of Hamish McClendon."

My blood ran cold, sweat beaded down my back, I tried to keep a steady grip on my glass but my hand shook.

"I've seen their evidence and it's all circumstantial, but they will try to make a case for murder," he continued. "I have evidence, however, that can prevent this from happening. I was tasked by my client to contact you, time is of the essence."

This all sounded to fantastical to be real, but dear God he knew my real name and he knew the basic story. Oh balls did they really have evidence? I was careful, what evidence could they have? What did I leave behind? I took a hard breath and swig from my glass. There was a logical explanation for all of this, or rather I was being lead into a trap by some unscrupulous character.

I should have just dismissed him right there, splashed my drink in his face and told him to go fuck himself. I didn't, I probably couldn't afford to; regardless of what line I was being fed perhaps I had to simply listen.

"Might I ask who you represent?" I whispered back.

"It's complicated though my clients are very powerful men," he murmured back. "They know who you are, they know the Sutcliff barony and your family's company, they have everything to lose by a messy legal process."

I smirked a little. Oh dear just who could he be referring to? This got better didn't it?

"So these powerful men want you to represent me," I whispered, taking a swig, "or kill me."

I glanced over and got a better look at the blighter. He was relatively young, though exceedingly thin. A pair of round spectacles seemed to take over his while face and his hair was so thin I could see his pallid scalp. His eyes widened and he scowled a bit.

"What a monstrous suggestion, I swear to God no one means any ill intent," he gasped.

"My apologies, I can't afford to be incautious," I replied, tipping my glass toward him.

"Perhaps I cannot blame you, though I assure you my clients would rather see this matter closed over papers in the least messy way possible."

I nodded, then drained my glass.

"We need to talk in private," he whispered. "Meet me in the next ten minutes on St. Thomas behind Griffith's Exchange."

He immediately stepped away and folded into the crowd, I watched him for a moment then looked back down at the bar. This dodgy fuck wanted me to meet him in some alleyway to "discuss business," nothing about this sounded like a good idea. I ordered a refill on my rum and patiently sipped, taking a look at the clock in the corner.

Five minutes later I rose from my seat and worked my way around the room, looking for something handy. I then looked to the floor and saw someone had dropped a knife; I casually bent down and picked it up, slipping it into my sleeve before rising back up. It wasn't a large knife, though it had a good point and felt of solid English steel. Everyone around me was too busy getting drunk to notice anything I did. This had an odd sense of familiarity.

I slipped from the bar, taking cautious looks around me to make sure I was not followed or being noticeably watched. I proceeded casually down the street, blending into the crowd. I was looking over my shoulder repeatedly, though tried to look as casual as I possibly could. Anyone could be watching me, anyone could be following me; this whole situation screamed of a set up. Still, like an idiot, I continued down the street toward St. Thomas. I decided to meet my new friend a little earlier, interrupt any plans he was putting in place.

Griffith's Exchange was a large junk shop that practically took up a whole corner, though sure enough there was an alleyway right behind it. No one was about; I took another look around and slipped into the alley behind the building. It was a tight space, though big enough for two men to walk abreast. I figured an all out melee would be difficult through I still had to remain on my guard.

I initially saw no one; I walked further down the street looking all around. The smell of pipe smoke caught my attention; someone was down here and they weren't trying to hide all that well. I walked further toward the smell, then seeing the scrawny shape of Mr. Thomas Daniels standing in the middle of the alley puffing from his pipe. I approached, he saw me, took one last puff, and tapped out his pipe against the wall.

"Are you alone?" I asked in a low tone.

He nodded, placing his pipe in his pocket.

"I apologize for the inappropriateness of our meeting place," he said.

I nodded back.

"I'm sure it's appropriate for whatever business you wish to transact," I replied, not hiding the edge in my voice. "And what business is that, Mr. Daniels? Just what powerful me do you represent? I'm not exactly on the decent side of some powerful men right now, if you know who I am I'm sure you're aware if that."

He nodded and put a hand in his pocket, I noticed his calm expression; so different from the nervous fidgeting of just a second ago.

"I am most certainly aware, Mr. Sutcliff," he answered. "I know you have been keeping a low profile, though one fell word to the wrong people and that all goes away. Well, as I said, that is what I'm here to prevent…for a price."

I stared at the bugger, seeing him now eying me most smugly.

"Oh so that's what this is all about," I said, crossing my arms, my fingers feeling the knife down my sleeve.

"I represent a firm with some rather powerful clients, including the Baron Matthew Sutcliff," he said.

Just the name twisted my insides, a smile spread over my face in response.

"I had been tasked by Baron Sutcliff to keep an eye out for you in case you stopped living such a clean, common life," he continued. "You took on a new name though that red hair and chipped teeth are a little unmistakable as is your propensity for gentleman's company. When your flatmate turned up dead and you suddenly flew the proverbial coop, I got a little curious. I have friends in the St. Martin's constabulary, for a few favors I was able to see some of their notes; including a few details that suggest your friend's death might not have been so natural."

I snickered, though my heart raced and my face grew hot.

"Might I ask what details these are?" I said, leaning a little further into his face. Now was the time to get back into character. "My former friend, God rest his soul, was a drunkard and an opium fiend whose body was ravaged by influenza and who knows what else. He died in his sleep, case closed; how dare you insult his memory and me by throwing around such shameful accusations."

"Yes, yes it is all so convenient," he sneered back. "But there were a few little bits you might have missed; such as those mud smears on his quilt that seem to match the shape of your feet in a straddling position."

My blood ran cold; no this has to be a lie.

"There were no marks on the body, at least ones they could find after his flesh started to bubble and rot, though they would have found bruises around his neck wouldn't they? Or perhaps bruises on his nose from where you smothered him. The baron told me a little story of a guest at a Christmas party who met an untimely end; just another drunkard who died in his sleep with you in immediate proximity."

I kept a calm expression, becoming more aware of the knife in my sleeve though trying not to take it in hand and cut his face off.

"Your dearest brother shared a few suspicions he had about that unfortunate incident, wouldn't he be curious to find out about this one?"

I took half a step back and cocked an eyebrow.

"You mean to tell me he is not aware of this particular one?" I asked.

"He is completely in the dark," Daniels replied. "And he will stay so if you make it worth my while. And those mud smears? Just conjecture from an overly ambitious young constable that no one is taking seriously. That is unless I ask them to press on; with one word I could tell my friends to investigate further or I could tell them to smudge them away. The St. Martin's constables are, for the most part, properly moved."

I looked to the ground and nodded. All this was making sense now.

"What the bleeding hell do you want from me?" I snickered with a stiff smile.

"I've done research on you; I know you hold profitable patents and stocks, I know you have money stashed aside. I know you live like a pauper, but you're still a well-off man. I believe £500 will be sufficient for me to assist you."

I looked him right in the eyes and chortled.

"And if I don't pay your demand?" I said through my laughter.

"Then a note of the mud smears plus some additions to the autopsy notes go on record and get sent direct to your elder brother," Mr. Daniels cheerily replied. "Plus a few accounts from some other gentlemen you spent time with. I'm sure by the time the law catches up with you, you will be in a sanatorium or missing a few limbs. I believe it is worth your while to cooperate."

I whistled a little, then put my hand on his shoulder. He flinched but allowed the touch. My other arm fell to the side, the handle of the knife now in my palm.

"You do drive a hard bargain, Mr. Daniels," I said, leaning into his face and getting his full attention.

My other hand plunged the knife into his side. He gasped, his eyes shot open, I looked on him with a smile.

"Though I have a better solution," I said.

I moved to plunge the knife in deeper, only it wasn't going any further. I pushed hard, feeling the blade catch against something hard. My smile slightly relaxed, Mr. Daniels then looked on me with another smile. I then heard the shuffling from all sides and went numb.

He pulled away, the knife still stuck in his side. He reached down and pulled it out; there was no blood on the blade, no blood on his clothes, nothing dripping from him. That was just as I felt strong hands grab my arms and pull me back. Mr. Daniels lifted his shirt, underneath was a shirt resembling a thick pillow; he spread the padding to reveal tough leather. I watched Mr. Daniels further inspect the leather, then a curious look came over his face.

"Bloody hell he actually scratched me," he said, his manner of speech much different than before.

"And what is that he used, a table knife," a voice said from the side. "Those things can barely cut through beef.

The voice made my knees buckle; the two men grabbing me were now supporting my weight. My gaze stayed forward, my body now trembling with slow building rage. I did not want to see who that voice belonged to, though he was right there just feet from me. I heard his footsteps walking closer.

"Well I'm going to have to repair this vest now; blimey, kid, you put some force behind it," Daniels said, looking at me with an impressed smile.

"He was truly passionate," that damnable voice said, the sound growing closer to me. "But then you put on such a fine performance it stirred his spirit."

I wanted to retch right there, I weakly moved my arms though didn't really make any attempt to break the hold on me. I was defeated, I was done; I expected the clinking of chais and the feel of manacles around my wrists. Or better yet I anticipated the click of the pistol or the cold steel of a knife at any moment. What a more appropriate final fate then to die at the hands of my brother.

The bastard walked up from the side and went into my vision, though I looked further away. He was then in front of me and I had no choice but to face him. I placed my gaze right on the same clear-blue eyes as mine. His close-cropped red hair was under a tricorn, he was wearing his rougher clothes; appropriate for the occasion.

Jacob looked on me with a calm smile.

"Good evening, brother," he said with cheer. "I believe we should have a little chat."


End file.
